I cannot believe our Hawaiian Holiday is nearly over. It was an exciting one. Surfing, golf, movies, giant fish, shaved ice, undie-bombers, golf.
And I might as well post this picture myself, since everyone else has. I know you’re all wondering how on earth this sort of thing can happen with all our security systems. Well, it’s not that we let our guard down, more like I was missing in action. Remember:I told you I was pulled in on the panty bomber terror detail for 5 hours last week? Sure enough, those were dangerous hours and the photographers with their long-lens armed cameras took advantage of this breech. Perhaps now we’ve learned that we need to be on constant guard against the paparazzi terrorists who hate us and never go on vacation. We just can’t have another man-caused disaster like this occur on our watch:
But never mind, our bathing suit antics are over for the season.
We’re going back to D.C. where Algore’s global warming antics have dumped tons of snow, and dropped temps into the chilly-willies. We’ll be flashing our toned guns (that’s gym-talk for biceps, people, not hooters) in our winter weight sleeveless dresses for now. We’re already reviewing our options for the State of the Union.
Or at least I think we’re flying home. As of right now, Lady M is refusing to board Air Force One.
It seems TSA has advised us that new in-flight protocol requires all passengers to remain seated for the last hour of flight, with absolutely nothing on their laps. Lady M has two problems with that: first, where is she going to put her Dom Perignon? And, secondly, there’s no way anyone is going to tell her when she can take a pee. Even Big Guy is getting a little wee-weed up about this. He enjoys his beer you know. So we’re busy having an executive order drafted exempting us from these silly rules that were meant to make the little people feel safe.
See you back in the Big White.
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