Nobody cares about your airport stories. I promise. We all tell them anyways.

I felt inexplicably anxious about my flight today, but what could be luckier than flying with O’Malley the Mallard on St. Patrick’s Day? 

Since I’d already punched my card for my one non-vegan thing per day (an egg and cheese breakfast biscuit as a treat since I had to get up at dark thirty this morning) I scoped out the vegan options at Denver’s airport:

Almond butter on Ezekiel bread in a baggie.

I was afraid the almond butter on my sandwich would count as a “liquid or gel” but had no hassle.  I did get my picture taken with the x-ray photo thing people used to be all in arms about.  I smiled for the camera, then felt silly, then changed my mind and felt awesome instead.  Then I ate a sandwich and felt smug about not breaking my pledge and not spending $9 on a bad vegetarian airport sandwich.

I know the airport is essentially a bus station with slightly better security (and bars!) but this seemed a bit much.  Getting on the floor is one thing.  Laying down is one thing.  Sprawling in front of where people walk up to the counter or the gate seems like more of a cry for attention than a quest for comfort.  And I suppose it worked since I snapped a photo and blogged about it.

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