The question remains. Did Sven ever meet face to face with his only Facebook friend and his long lost, as in forty years lost, Coast Guard crew?
As you may recall, I'd plotted to not let Sven out of my sight if his ass were to end up looking like the one that Mai-Mai is still obsessed with. It's not to say that all of his hard work, what with swinging with Steve in front of the T.V., doing Pilates and all of the weight lifting didn't pay off. It's just that Sven doesn't have any underwear like in the picture above.
There is also the fact that if Sven's travel agent ever found that out he didn't go on the trip, the trip that he'd called her about every other day to confirm and finalize what was already final, I'm not sure what would have happened. On one of his finalizing calls he learned that he'd missed a letter about a flight change. So, how in the heck was he supposed to get through the Atlanta airport in thirty-seven minutes? A reliable source, who works at an airport told him that he should be able to change his flight and that it should be on the house. Sven's travel agent changed his flight again, ignoring the free thing. All was settled once more, but Sven confirmed the final, final, final, itinerary, several times in the last week, just to be sure it was final. I'm afraid she might have come over here and shot him if he didn't get on that plane.
Anyway, I drove Sven to the airport. Well, Sven drove to the airport and I rode shot gun. On the way I was learning the route I would take to work after the Sven drop. He was giving me basic and detailed, Millie directions. "All you gotta do is take a right when you get to the end of the lot and go straight to these lights. Be in this lane, right here. Don't go in that lane or you'll have to go left and you don't want to go left. Then once you've turned on that road," he was pointing, "watch for M. I showed you M back there, remember? You will only be able to go left on M, so you can't screw that up. Then once you are on M, stay on M all the way to Middleton, Millie. Do not turn off of M for any reason."
He was so cute, dressed in a bright orange windbreaker, some faded jeans and the yellow baseball cap I'd picked up for him in Mexico. I tried to snap a picture of him, but of course I only had seven percent battery power on my phone and it went into safe mode.
"Millie, what are you doing? Don't waste your battery. What if I have to call you because I forgot something? Look in my bag back there. Is my folder with my itinerary in it?"
We pulled up to the curb and got out his casket full of golf clubs and his duffle bag full of golf balls. We stood there in front of the car and drank our coffee in the warm sunshine while he made use of his newly purchased for the airport, lighter, since they are acceptable again. And then an announcement came over the loud speakers in a robotic woman's voice.
"Please remove your vehicle from the lane. The lane is for dropping only. Please remove your vehicle from the lane. The lane is for dropping only."
So we kissed farewell and I watched him go, rolling his stuff in through the doors, off to see his only Facebook friend and his long lost Coast Guard buddies.
No, this picture was not taken this morning.
