Cousin Nancy told me a little travel tale the other day and I’m sitting here thinking, “She has started a movement.”
She and her husband are going to somewhere in the north of California to see their daughter, her wife and the adorable baby grandson. Thus, they will fly. Because in this big country there are no realistic alternatives.
However, there are no direct flights to where they’re heading. And, since Nancy doesn’t like booking travel online, she got on the phone with airline people.
The first airline lady plotted a route the first leg of which would land Nancy and Merv in Dallas/Ft. Worth.
“No, no!” Nancy told her. “I’m not landing in Texas. No Texas!”
Eventually, Nancy talked to three airlines. One said she could fly to Atlanta — and Nancy said, “Why should I fly south when I want to go west?” There are two coasts, she explained. “East coast to west coast.”
Eventually Nancy found a flight through Denver. (I’m in agreement here; Lauren Boebert shouldn’t keep us from connections through Denver.)
So this is the way to go, folks. A firm reinstatement of Flyover Country — a term which Flyover Country hates. Do not accept wheels down in Texas or any other anti-women red state.