The good news: Despite the fact that there were at least a dozen kids and babies on the first flight, there was no wailing or weeping. Not even from the grownups.
The bad news: They made me gate-check my bag after all, saying it was a little too tall to fit into the overhead compartment. That’ll teach me to over-pack an “expandable” suiter.
I’m in Houston for a four-hour layover, preparatory to a nine-hour flight. I had a swell plate of barbecue (beef and pork — why limit myself?) on the theory that a big meal should come in the middle of the day rather than right before I get on the plane.
They will feed us for free on the Houston-to-Heathrow flight, but it won’t be a huge meal. I pre-ordered the kosher meal on the theory that it won’t be overly heavy or greasy. Or what mystery author Sue Grafton memorably described as a “fist of chicken, covered with rubber cement.”