Lumbar Support Boy doesn't know it, but he was lucky to make it to Phoenix. It took two and a half hours of him attempting to pummel his feet into my lower back before I rose over the back of my seat to growl at him, but I think his mother got the point rather quickly.Take your child's feet from out of my back or I will make a scene. Oh, and have a lovely trip, wherever you're going, eh? Don't make me ritually sacrifice your kid at cruising altitude or you'll find out just how deadly knitting needles are when they're wielded with malice aforethought.

Airport security amuses me. Yes, Mr. Officer, I will be happy to show you my boarding pass, because I realize that it is undoubtedly technically possible for me to have lost it between the last time it was checked and the moment I strode shoeless through the metal detector. Boarding passes are really bad about tiptoeing away at inconvenient moments like that.

There's nothing like a little in-flight paranoia to spice up your day of flight.

While we were waiting for my checked luggage to reappear, Kara warned me that airport security would want to compare the name on my checked bag against some form of ID. I rummaged around in my mess of a carryon bag and realized that finding the boarding pass was a lost cause.

"Driver's license should be okay," she said.

I walked up to the security guard and presented both my baggage claim tag and my driver's license. She stared from one to the other, and back again, and then looked at me.

"But where's your boarding pass?"

"Somewhere in my bag. I dug for it, but didn't see it."

She stared at my driver's license and my bag for another couple of seconds. Meanwhile, the evil snarky bitch in me was doing her best not to whisper,

"Come on, you bleeding idiot. My name is hyphenated. I am the only person in this country with this name. I should know. I've checked. Can you accept the possibility that someone from Alabama might have the temerity to want to take her own bag - which is clearly marked with her name, by the way - out of the airport?"

I waited. I wasn't going to apologize, and I certainly wasn't going to root around in my bag when she had acceptable legal identification in her face, and just didn't want to accept it.

Perhaps it was time for me to take a vacation. My tolerance for stupidity is even lower than its normally-low threshold.

* * * * *

I am beginning to suspect that my plane may have accidentally exited planet Earth and landed on another, similar, yet slightly different planet. That has nothing to do with the omnipresent earth tones that dominate the Phoenix landscape; those of you who have never been here will definitely need to see photos of the tone-on-tone artwork done on the earthen areas near overpasses.

Nevertheless, it's hard not to look a little askance at any part of the country about which your host says, "Be sure to drink a lot of water. It's not unheard-of for people to come in for a visit when it's really dry and end up with nosebleeds."

Right then. Over-hydration it is.

After lunch, and settling in, I tagged along for Kara's orthodontist appointment, in which she learned that she has a problem with an inappropriate tongue thrust. True, it may only have to do with swallowing food, but we're on something like hour six of truly inappropriate and tasteless tongue-thrust jokes. (Did the pitcher of stupendous strawberry margaritas have anything to do with it? Only time will tell.)

Personally, I think it bodes well for this vacation. Three hours in a new timezone and the wholly inappropriate jokes are already flying.

I'm thinking it could be a lovely, lovely vacation.