I am feeling a little sick today. Yesterday I had to get up at 4am to fly to Salt Lake City for a business trip, and then I had to fly back the same night, so I am tired out. But it's really that I have a head cold starting up with a bad headache and then yesterday I got sick at the airport, which is not a good time. If you were thinking to yourself that, perhaps at the next opportunity you have, you'll spend a little free time at the local airport, vomiting into an automatic flush toilet, I advise you to NOT do it. It ain't all it's cracked up to be.

Salt Lake City was kind of nice, from what I could tell. It looked a lot like Phoenix in some spots, and then it looked like Denver in other spots. And for some reason, in some spots it looked like Hazlet, NJ. And I passed an alleyway that looked like Langhorne, PA. And a McDonalds that I swear looked like one I saw in Lake Placid, NY. But I digress. Let me get to the sick stuff. I know that's all you want to read about.

So I had almost 4 hours to waste before my flight to go home. Like any loser who is afraid of Mormon kidnappings, I decided it was safer to just go to the airport early rather than explore downtown SLC. I really had no idea where I was going, I was wearing uncomfortable business shoes and I was already feeling sick and feverish at that point, so I pictured getting to the airport, eating a quick dinner and crashing out on a few seats in a waiting area and reading for a few hours.

At the airport, I had to lollygag around the ticket counter for about a half hour before I could check in because I was there too early. (I did it! I worked my new favorite weird word into a sentence! Lollygag! Tremendous work, self.) My headache was growing worse with hunger, and I was lightheaded. Finally I was able to get my boarding pass and head into the rest of the airport. I looked for a restaurant but came up empty, so I went into a "lounge" area that had the typical food-court selections, like a Pizza Hut Express, a Starbucks, a Burger King-- yup, all the nutrition a traveller could possibly want. I ambled up to the Pizza Hut stand and a sallow-faced lady sold me a personal cheese pizza and some cold breadsticks.

I was already in trouble by the time I finished the first breadstick. Gross gurglings were starting. But I ate anyway, since I thought it would help my headache. It was practically a migraine at that point, with light sensitivity and all the fun stuff. I ate, and staggered off to wander into random little gift shops and book stores. Around the time I was checking out the Brookstone stand for the thrid time, I decided I should try a little fruit to settle my stomach.

I looked for a place that would have fruit, but by that point a lot of the little shops and restaurants were closing up for the night. I ended up at a TCBY.

TCBY does NOT have fruit! I need to remember this for the next time. Sure, they look like strawberries, but they've been molested with sugar glazing. Molested strawberries! Not a good idea to add them to a stomach full of greasy, rubbery pizza and cold breadsticks.

I got this "smoothie" with molested strawberries and bananas in it. IT only took about ten minutes for my body to decide that it was not a halfway house for troubled fruits and bastardized yogurt. I tried to remain calm-- breathing slowly and relaxing the best I could in a near-abandoned airport-- but it didn't work out in the end. I sat in a stall for about 15 minutes willing myself to not puke but it was all in vain.

Funny thing about airport bathrooms. They've always got piped-in music, and it's always that "I Want it That Way" song from either the Backstreet Boys or N'Sync. Ever notice that? It sounds even better while you're heaving. You probably know this already.

I was pretty damn sick after that. I just slumped in a seat and waited for the plane to board. But as I was waiting, I saw the most adorable thing ever: a woman was sitting there with her two little daughters, who looked to be somewhere between 3 and 5 years old. The youngest girl had pale blonde hair down past her shoulders, and she was wearing a Spiderman costume over her clothes. It was one of those little polyester-type costumes with the tie in the back, pull-on pants and shoe covers that looked more like red-and-black leg warmers. She was sitting there eating Lucky Charms out of Ziploc bag and swinging her legs happily.

She got up to throw something in the garbage, and her mother said, "Where are you going, Missy?" and the little girl stomped her foot and said firmly, "I'm Spiderman!" The mother corrected herself and said, "Where are you going, Spiderman?" I guess she only answers to Spiderman right now. That's OK. I remember when Tricia would only answer to "The Governor" following a summer vacation trip to a mini golf course. Long story. Anyway, Spiderman got permission to throw out her garbage, I am happy to report.

A few minutes later the girl pulled on the Spiderman mask. It clung to her head and her blonde hair stuck out the bottom. Next she was eating crackers but without taking the mask off; she was lifting up the bottom and shoving the crackers up to her mouth. It was so cute I almost puked again.

If I ever happen to take custody of a little girl someday, I will most assuredly encourage her to like things like Spiderman and to wear costumes out in public. Unless, of course, she is 15 years old and morbidly obese, in which case I will most assuredly encourage her to take up residence in my hall closet and eat only processed American cheese slices and her own hair for substenance.