Maui: Getting There is Half the Fun...or Something

Matt and I got home from our week in Maui yesterday. I started collecting books to read on the trip a couple months ahead of time. One of them, a book on physics by Brian Greene, was actually given to Jack but he wants me to read it aloud to him so I figured I'd better get a head start so I don't stumble over the words like an idiot.

The Elegant Universe: Superstrings, Hidden Dimensions, and the Quest for the Ultimate Theory is such an impressive looking book that I thought that perhaps the flight attendants would notice what a cultured and educated person I was and bump us up to first class, assuming that I did not belong in economy. Like a princess in a pigsty.

I gave it my best shot but what I ended up reading was Tina Fey's Bossypants.

Needless to say, we stayed in Economy. Where we belong.

I was out of place anyway because I was not wearing one of the following: leggings and riding boots, socks with flip flops, or stilettos.

At what point in the decision-making process does one think that stilettos are a good choice for travel? Perhaps the 5" heels are for clubbing while the 3" are made for easy wearing? There I was, in my sneakers and yoga pants and I was out of place.

Something has gone terribly wrong when you wear stilettos to a place with moving sidewalks and TSA body scans. Most likely these are the same people who refill their ice cube trays with Evian and insist on hyphenating their children's last names.

During our final flight to Maui, I sat behind a girl of perhaps 14 or 15.

She, of course, took copious amounts of pictures on her cell phone. Often of the clouds from her window. I imagine she posted them to Facebook or Instagram with an absurd amount of hashtags: #Maui #Airplane #Clouds #Heaven #ComplimentarySodas #WearingMyStilettos #YouWishYouWereMe #ThatCloudLooksLikeAnAmaradillo #RunningOutofThingstoSay #StillHashtaggingThough #TinyBathrooms

With four kids at home, even the flight to Maui was enjoyable. I got to drink my pop without someone saying "This is for me?" while drinking it. Matt and I watched a movie on the flight, even though there was considerable white noise from the headphone jack. No matter - we were watching an entire movie! An adult movie!  Matt and I got to talk to each other without interruption. Sure it was uncomfortable at first (So...how's it going? Do you have enough armrest? Say, what does that cloud look like to you?), but we got the hang of it quickly. I imagined the conversations that Jack was having with my Grandma:

J: "What are these medication bottles for?"
G: "High blood pressure."
J: "High blood pressure can kill you. Want me to tell you all the diseases you might get as an old person?"

And then the ones Matt's mom was having with the other three kids:

Marcia: "Do you want graham crackers?
Everyone: "Yes!"

She distributes them and suddenly, a blood-curdling scream.

Marcia: "What?! What happened?
Noah: "Tali took mine!"
Tali: (inaudible high pitched screams in Chingrish)

Kate begins to sob - "My graham cracker broke in half but not on the line!"

I didn't envy them.

Our final flight was delayed four hours so we missed the welcome dinner at the hotel. We were hungry, as airlines have now cut out food service on most flights. Our 8.5 hr flight from Dallas to Maui had not even peanuts although the bathrooms are still as lovely as ever. So there's still that.

Imagine our surprise when there was a note for us at the counter of the hotel from Edward Jones, welcoming us and telling us to order room service that night on them.

Apparently they did this for all of the people from Matt's company on that delayed flight.

Giddy, we called up room service and placed an order.

We never order room service. Ever. And we especially wouldn't at a place that charges $600 for a room.

We were out on the balcony, overlooking the ocean, when our food arrived.

I was wearing a nightie so I told Matt to run and get the food. Nothing crazy, but short and strappy and lacy across the top.

The guy asked if he can set up the food for us and Matt says "Sure, on the balcony."

My eyes bugging out, I push my chair to a darkened corner and cross my arms over my chest.

The guy comes out and flips on the light, exposing my Target slip in harsh florescent colors. He does a small double take at the sight of me but I assume he's seen much worse. People in towels, people in no clothes, people in stilettos settling in for a night of relaxation.

He puts a tablecloth and a little floating Hawaiian flower on the table and sets out our plates. He only brought a butter knife for my filet mignon (filet mignon!) so we had to make sure it would still cut with that. That's right. I had to uncross my arms and cut my steak in front of him.

He got tipped with more than just money that night, I'll tell you that.

The setting of food on the balcony was so lovely I had to take a picture.

I almost took another picture of the food at a better angle but I knew it was a slippery slope from there. It starts with pictures of food and ends with hashtags. Every time.