How NOT to travel.

When the flight attendant took my boarding pass and asked, in that non-commital way, “How are you going tonight?” I found that I was completely incapable of lying about it. “Pretty terrible, actually,” I said, still out of breath to the point of wheezing, probably red and puffy and looking like I was going to either keel over or cry. Both options seemed reasonable at the moment.

All this pain and anguish, and it was only quarter to six in the morning yet.

Folks? THIS is the definition of a bad day.

Read the rest of the harrowing tale of woe here!