The title tells it all; I’m in Toronto until Friday morning when I get to fly home.
I brought my own lunch on the plane to Chicago, which was a good decision. One of the flight attendants noticed the Lunardi’s sticker on the wrapping and asked me which location I went to and whether I knew one of the cashiers, Dorothy (who has been there since we moved to Calfornia back in 1984). But that was the extent of the friendly personal service on that flight.
And now I’m here, and it’s time to pretend that I’m tired and go to sleep. I probably won’t have any trouble pretending I’m tired tomorrow morning, but that won’t do me any good, either.