Fighting Holiday Boredom with Medical Mayhem and the Friendly Skies

The holidays have officially arrived. I know it to be so because I went with the women to the Christmas tree farm. With the exception of The Year of Insanity when my wife bought some kind of artificial monstrosity, we have visited the same tree farm since the kids were little. This is the earliest we’ve ever gone and it turned out to be a good idea. You can buy your tree but leave it uncut and alive until you are ready to retrieve it and set it up in the house. So, out there west of town a future holiday home adornment awaits its fate.
The day was eventful for our daughter, who is out of school for Thanksgiving but bored and borderline blue because Mr. Wonderful is far away with his family. Thankfully, a few college friends have come home and have provided a welcome distraction. Before choosing a tree or enjoying a squealing, hopping, hugging reunion with displaced girlfriends, she found herself at the controls of an airplane.
Be assured that when she woke up Wednesday morning, she had no idea she would be flying over the city. Life’s like that, you know? A day starts off ordinary, and then your father calls and invites you to go flying. Spontaneity has its rewards. I was scheduled for a short flight on a private plane. Knowing my daughter was home alone missing her man (not me, the boyfriend), I called and asked her if she would like to go flying. Of course she did. She was promised a perch in the co-pilot’s seat, so what more could you ask? The pilot took a liking to her (which is easy to do). About a half-hour into the flight, he turned to me and gave the “Look, Ma! No Hands!” signal. I wasn’t sure what was going on, but found out later he was letting her drive the plane. She took us on a little descent and then a little rise. I’m sort of glad I didn’t know. Later, safely on the ground, she said, “it was exciting but it kind of freaked me out. I mean, I didn’t think he really meant that I would actually fly the thing. But he said, ‘push the steering wheel in a little.’ I did and we started going down. Oh, my God!” Oh, my God, indeed.
We also made an emergency trip to a dermatologist. The stepmother of one of her friends works at a “medical spa.” (Don’t ask me what that means). Spa stepmom passed along some kind of cream with the intent of helping my daughter with a benign skin annoyance about which she complains with some consistency. Somewhere along the chain of custody, instructions for application were poorly communicated. My daughter dramatically overused it and the results became, shall we say, obvious. I called a dermatologist I know and explained what happened and was told with some emphasis, ‘bring her in right now.” So, we went. A friendly but firm lecture about the misuse and improper dispensing of prescription products ensued. Fortunately, her face hasn’t begun to slough off; but who know what might have happened? She has been cautioned to stay out of the sun for a week or so. Given the current condition of her skin, it’s probably a good thing her Main Man is far away.
For the record, her mother was blissfully unaware of any of these shenanigans and she liked it like that.
Hey, at least nobody's bored anymore.

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