My grandmother had a wedding to go to in The Big City this week, so I decided to ditch a few days of school so I could tag along. Of course, as far as my school knows I’m away to attend a close family member’s wedding. In reality (it’s important to differentiate between the real truth and the version of the truth we’re telling the attendance office) I barely know the bride and I mostly came to get a prom dress (and to check out one of the universities I’ve been accepted to).
I can’t manage to travel anywhere without a funny (in a retrospective way) travel story. So far, on this trip we’ve already had several such stories. It started before we had even stepped onto the plane. There was a heavy fog the night before our flight, and by morning it was still lingering. Our flight was originally scheduled for 8:45 a.m., and we were supposed to get up at, like, 6 because we had to pick up a whole handful of relatives (who were also going to the wedding) on our way to the airport. We get a call from my grandmother at 4 in the morning saying that the flight’s been delayed by an hour. Great, we think, we get to sleep in an extra hour. When we all finally get to the airport (the tiny little airport, that only has flights from one tiny little airline) we attempt to check in. Sorry, they tell us, all flights have been cancelled. We can get you on a flight on Tuesday morning.
This was Sunday morning, the wedding was Sunday night. Then they booked us for a flight on Monday at 6:45 am, which was still no good. Finally, my grandmother and I were booked for a flight at 9:45 that night, because we still wanted to take a trip together (as it’s also my birthday this week) even though she’d miss the wedding.
As we’re dropping everyone off at home, my amazing mother had a brilliantly epic epiphany. We managed to book three tickets for me, my grandma and a cousin (the only relative left in the car) to fly in at 1:00 and make it in time for the wedding. Of course, the airport she booked at was a two-hour drive and a trip across the U.S. border away. Thank God for Jet Blue and for my mother for driving us into Buffalo. (This is a trek most people living in the GTA (Greater Toronto Area) make every once in a while — or in my family’s case, several times a year — for the sake of shopping). So three of the six of us ended up making it here and my grandma and cousin were both at the wedding in time. That story was probably crazier to live than to retell, but I though it was worth mentioning.
Hopefully tomorrow, I’ll post about my adventures in prom dress shopping.