I used to think the most annoying thing a person I'm walking with can do is point. I really, really, hate pointing. It's like putting on a T-shirt that says "Hi, I'm a tourist, I don't know where I am or where I'm going. I'm gullible. Take advantage of me," while wearing white sneakers. I've gotten over that a little and allowed that pointing may sometimes mean, "Wow, that's cool," and that awe is more than a little okay. I like to be awed a little everyday, so I've even been known to point a little here or there.
But I now realize that the thing annoying me most is people going about their activities as an act of performance. For example, having your conversation about going to see Billy Idol just loud enough so that you know everyone else in the cafe knows too or doing anything funny or cute and then looking around to see who noticed. Maybe I'm just a paranoid bitch, but this was happening yesterday and it annoyed the shit out of me. (Swearing loudly and often is another form of performance life. For that matter, so is blogging, so who am I to talk?)
At any rate, there was a whole lot of performance life happening in the airport yesterday that was just the icing on the cake of my end-of-vacation-rage stuffed, bad-day cake with how-could-you-say-that-to-me(?!) chips.
On the upside, on the way out to the Midwest, A and I had a spontaneously cute moment when we stepped onto adjacent moving walkways and reached across and held hands. No looking around to see if anyone was watching, no thinking about telling people how cute we are, just a tender moment that is one of the highlights of my vacation. Along with my mom's mashed potatoes, which were killer.