I left my heart with Pontiac in Charlotte

I have decided that I'm moving to Charlotte. Not for the weather. Not for the food. Not for any particularly practical reason.

I'm moving to Charlotte for Pontiac.

We had a layover in said city on our way back from a weding in Mexico this weekend. As we grabbed our luggage to re-check it (I still haven't figured out WHY we had to do this, but we did) my oldest son was playing with a wooden snake he got in Los Cabos. He dropped it on the floor between the two large black women who were doing the baggage check.

They both screamed and jumped back from what they thought was a real snake that had fallen out of my backpack. When they regained their wits, one of the women looked down at a confused little boy.

This was Pontiac.

And this is what Pontiac said, with a loud southern drawl: "Child, you almost done gone and gave Pontiac a heart attack!"

I almost pissed myself laughing. This is a good thing, because laughter is not running rampant through airports theses days, I have come to notice. They seem to be becoming increasingly similar to hospitals.

So anyway. That's why I'm moving to Charlotte.

If you have detected a slight sleep-deprived quality to this message. You win the big prize. Please go to door #5 to collect your complimentary bag of armadillo-flavoured Doritos. Doris will then show you the way out. Be nice to her, her husband just left her for a banana-hued women with one leg and a bad attitude.