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My children lost.
Sort of.
They did not really want me to leave them alone.
They especially did not want me to go flying off to San Antonio after Fabio. Their nemesis.
I was prepared. I thought I was anyway.
I bought new luggage. I stocked the house with food. I choose my clothes carefully. Purple predominates. Women over fifty look good in purple.
I died my hair. Never, ever dye your hair before a major event. You will always regret it. I did. It came out too dark. Women over fifty do not look good in dark hair.
I also cut my hair. Myself. Whenever I am frustrated, I cut my hair. It's been strikingly short for five years. Never, ever cut your hair before a major event...
I choose to travel in a suit. You get treated better. I wore a purple one.
I wore old shoes at the last minute. Some common sense must prevail after all.
I made it to the shuttle (at 5 AM) and escaped.
I did kiss them before I left. My children. They were groggy and not pleased to awaken at such an early hour. Yet they had been equally insistent that I do alert them to my departure.
I repeated yet again what food was available.
It's a short trip.
Two days.
They assure me they will forage for food when hungry.
They assure me there is enough dog food and cat food and rabbit food and chinchilla food to last until I am returned.
I hope so. I can't stand the baleful look I get from the dogs when my sons forget to feed them. Or the excavations the dogs present me with in revenge.
Big dogs can extract a lot of revenge.
They went back to bed.
I made my escape.
I got to hang out in the airport for ninety minutes. I insist I am going to carry my garment bag. My black velvet dress and its counterpart, a deep purple one, are carefully strapped in. I am carrying everything I need for the party. Just in case.
If you can survive lost luggage, you will never loose it. Murphy's law.
I find that I miss the kids. Whenever we travel as a group, I always board early. When they were young, it was expected. As they got older, the airline staff wanted them strapped somewhere as soon as possible so I boarded early then, too. Hyperactive kids can be useful.
I listen carefully. "If you will take a longer than normal time to..." is all I need to hear. I race on the plane with the first class and tottering hoards. I have an assigned seat. It's the dress that needs to be carefully hung. I am not timid. My dress will not be crushed. I may be a mess but my dress won't be.
I get strapped in, next to the window with strangers between me and the aisle. You can't climb over strangers like you can climb over your own offspring. They protest too much.
So do the kids, but I can ignore them.
I settle down for a long flight. I scrunch up into my seat. Blanket and pillow and play least in sight, that's my ploy.
I try not to get too excited. I'll wear myself out. It's a long flight.
I exhaust the reading material they provide. I read stuff I brought. A romance novel. Sigh. It doesn't do anything to calm me down.
I have a mad dash in Dallas. Less than an hour to get around the terminal from Hell. The architect for this place needs to be shot on sight. I praise myself for wearing my old shoes. I have been here before.
I make it, the dress intact. Again, I am not timid. I board early. I secure the dress.
This plane is running late. A good thirty minutes or so. The pilot laughs and says he'll try to make it up. I wonder if they'll flap the wings harder. I am sitting on the wing and it is vibrating. I am not a good flyer. I know how they build these things.
I am to pick up a stranger in San Antonio. Another Fabio fan on the way to the party. She's as excited as I am. I have a vague description. I wonder if she's waiting. I wonder if she's started to panic. I am her ride.
I got to San Antonio without further incident. The pilot ³made up² some of the time. I let the stampeding mob go first, since I wish to be careful with my dress. I am stubborn.
A restroom is mandatory at this point. I was considerate of the strangers. I am disheveled, tired and beginning to be frantic. I look like something the cat dragged in. I am also computing time. I want to wash my hair. I need to check out the dress. I have double seams, so I can let it out. I am worried about shoes. And nail polish. And a whole lot of stuff I am not used to caring about.
I stumble through the airport looking for my luggage and the car rental place. Somewhere in this area I am to find a stranger named Cathy. I am beginning to fuss.
I see one woman with slicked back hair, the only description I have, but being timid (where did that come from), I scan the crowd to make sure. It's amazing, but she's the one and we have survived step one.
Contact.
Unbelievably we were on the same plane and didn't know it!
Oh well. I fetch my luggage, ungainly. But distinctive. Who would steal bright purple luggage? I balance my dress and see about the car.
The car rental doesn't have a rental. At least, not a compact. They lied. But they want my business, they give me a midsize Buick.
We drag ourselves out to find the correct car rental shuttle. We have to run across two lanes of crazed drivers to get there. My luggage is quietly developing a mind of its own. Amazingly I have not ruined my nylons nor lost my temper.
The clock is ticking.
We stumble out to the parking lot.
We figure out, by trial and error, just what those driving directions to get out of the airport were.
I figure out by trial and error how to drive the car. (I will never own a midsized Buick.)
I even find the right freeway. (Are they called freeways in Texas?)
By now, Fabio has arrived in the area.
I was told he was driving down from Austin.
I can tell he's near.
My pulse has sped up.
I'm starting to breath heavily. Gasping for breath might be a better description. Panic is setting in.
I have less than two hours to change and get dressed.
I hope the kids got to school. I force myself not to think about them. I am a runaway mother for the next two days. I refuse to feel guilty.
I have taken them camping and taught them survival skills for ten long years with the cub scouts and boy scouts. I have spent hours packing and fetching and hiking and cleaning. I have spent countless weekends devoted to my offspring. It's payback time.
We find the hotel between us, figure out where to check in, and it's raining! Do you know what rain does to my hair? It makes it fuzzy. I'll look like a drowned rat!
It was windy.
It was cold.
It reached 17 degrees!
I parked as close as possible and we raced for our rooms. My dress went in first. I washed my hair. I did my nails. I found my nylons and my underwear.
These things are important. I drank three cups of tepid coffee.
I have not slept for two days in anticipation, and I won't sleep tonight either!
The wind was horrific.
Do you know what you look like when you have a skirt slit half way to your hip in a high wind? Do you know how cold that can be? I lent Cathy a jacket. My purple suit. I had on a genuine Dacron I shot at Sears. At least my arms were warm.
And high wind added to the rain does little good for your best plans for your hair.
I was a mess by the time we figured who was in which car to ride in. I was also lost. We ended up in a van with strangers. I don't know these people! I hung on to Cathy for dear life. She was lost too.
It was a crush - a basement room with pipes exposed, 120 screaming women and Fabio. Unprotected. He is either very brave or very trusting. I wouldn't trust us.
Judging from the gestures, he shouldn't have. But then, there were those of us who would have rushed to his defense if needed. There were at least fifty of us who look upon him in a somewhat maternal light, when we aren't looking at him in other ways. God help the person who harms him in the midst of one of these things. They'd be hard pressed to find the remains.
And when he picked me up, he took me by surprise; it took seconds before I grabbed him and kissed him soundly on the cheek (I hope I didn't bruise him) and told him I was so comfortable I could stay here all night. 
He gave me such a look. Poor baby.
And my camera jammed.
My sons tell me that they prayed to the devil and lit candles so this would happen.
I'm feeding them on bread and water for the next few days.
I got some of my photos back from San Antonio. Fabio looks so good I feel I should put a bag over my head.
I called my plastic surgeon.
I bleached my hair.
I'm letting it grow out.
I'm going to Los Angeles.
He'll be there November 8th.
So will I.
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