The day we dreaded. And the longest day.
We woke up at about 7, washed up, and sealed our bags. We tried to stall a bit and skim through channels for some trash tv. No luck.

We made our way to check out and sauntered outside to our car. It would be Matt’s last drive on the left side of the road. The GPS keeps telling us to follow signs for Belfast Airport but she is not pronouncing the space in between, as they are two different places in this instance. After enough spins and swirls, we make it to the rental lot where an agent waves at us, a little too excited if you ask me. He walks around the car and asks Matt if he hit anything or crashed the car at all. We respond no. He is somewhat surprised but gives us a passing score on our paperwork.

I snap a few last minute photos of the car, just for this journal really. Then we head over to the shuttle line. It’s hard to tell where it starts or stops so I ask a guy, “Is this the front or the back of the line?”
“Yes,” he responds, in an Eastern European accent.
A lady behind him smiles, and then clarifies for him. Matt and I stand in the back of the line giggling about the first guys answer.
The shuttle arrives quickly and before we know it we’re at the airport checking our bags. We go through Irish TSA, followed by a bunch of duty free shops (I manage to only buy 1 perfume, Miss Dior), and then another security check only for passengers traveling to the United States. The second one is a bit redundant and maybe even less thorough than the first. It seems like they’re just checking a box and/or wasting all of our time. By the time we make it to our gate we have just enough time for a latte before our boarding group is called.

An hour into the flight, the air condition turns into heat. I turn to Matt, “something is wrong,” I say as I look for any beads of sweat on his head. He feels it too. I start praying about it. One of my fears is getting turned around over the Atlantic Ocean. The problem gets fixed within a few minutes, after most of the economy section has stripped down to just the essentials. After that, the remaining 6 hours are smooth sailing. A 3 hour layover in Dulles, and then we’re on plane 2 to Los Angeles. Joining us on our flight was Carson Wentz from the Washington Grapes. Ok so they’re the Washington Commanders now but I had coined the name Washington Grapes as a nickname when they were in between names. (See if you can make the connection). Matt says he’s injured, and seeing a specialist. I have no ability to recognize any celebrity, which I consider a gift as I probably don’t know how to act right. On the second flight, we stuffed our hips into the exit row seats and verbally agreed to 3 different flight attendants that we were willing and able to assist in an emergency. Five hours later and we’re back in not so sunny Los Angeles. It’s 8:30 pm (4:30 am in Ireland) and Brandi is waiting for us in baggage claim. We’re finally home.