(Still Day 2 of Married Life, First Day of Honeymoon Adventure)

“I…don’t…have…the…tickets.”

Chad’s words reverberated in my brain. What?! Apparently, in his rush to pack so we could get to the airport in time to miss our flight from Oklahoma City to Dallas, he forgot to grab the entire packet of information about our charter flight and honeymoon week in Acapulco.

He began to argue with the ticket attendant. I dragged myself and my suitcase back over to a waiting room chair. Chad and the attendant moved to one side of the desk and argued. Other people eyed Chad curiously while they checked in their luggage and moved through the door to the plane.

White noise filled my ears. I put my head between my knees and sucked in deep breaths. Mostly, the air around my knees smelled like day-old polyester pantsuit. I untied my jaunty little brown, orange and cream scarf from around my neck and used it to blow my nose and wipe the tears from my eyes.

Some time later, when I looked up, Chad was headed in my direction, his head down, eyes on the floor. We were the only people left in the waiting area. The gate attendants were deep in conversation.

“They won’t let us on the plane,” he said in a low voice as he flopped into the chair next to mine.

Someone other than my usual self took over my body. This is my honeymoon. The hell they won’t let us on that plane! The thoughts roared in my brain. I shot out of the chair and stomped over to the desk. (Did I mention I have an Irish temper, inherited from my Irish great-grandfather on my father’s side of the family?)

I banged my fist on the counter. “Wait a minute. This is a charter flight. We’ve PAID for it. Our names are on the flight manifest, aren’t they?” Eyes wide, one of the attendants left the trio of airport personnel and hurried back over to the check-in desk.

“Well, yes, it is a charter, ma’am.”

“Our names should be on the flight manifest. Are they?” I handed my drivers license to him. “Is that my name on there?This is my honeymoon. I want on that damn plane.”

He ran his finger down the list of names on a page attached to the clipboard.

The man turned away to consult the other attendants. I marched back to Chad and grabbed my suitcase. “Come on. We’re getting on that plane.”

He followed me back to the desk and handed the man his drivers license.

“Check us in, now,” I ordered. I looked at the attendant’s faces and felt hope. He reached into a drawer and pulled out some luggage tags. He filled in the blanks with our names and attached the tags to our luggage.

“Okay. You may now board. Right down that hallway, please.” He returned our drivers licenses and we scurried toward the jetway to the plane. I didn’t look back.

Acapulco, here we come.

(I promise this is God’s truth. This is the way it happened. What I didn’t know then was that my honeymoon hell was not yet over. Watch for Part 5 next Monday!)