I. Hate. Traveling.
But you know what I hate more? NECK PILLOWS.
You know, those neon, tempur-pedic micro-bead U-shaped monstrosities that everyone and their dog carry around airports. Come on. And if that's not bad enough, these neck-pillow carrying citizens proceed to wear the blasted things around their necks as if they're snuzzy woolen scarves on a winter's day. NO. THEY JUST LOOK LIKE CATERPILLARS WEAVING COCOON SACKS AROUND YOUR NECK. It's terrifying! What must young children think? It would have scared the freckles off my face if, as a young grasshopper, I had seen someone voluntarily donning a SQUISHY NECK BRACE.
But after defending your Constitutional right to carry Chapstick in your handbag through security whilst simultaneously being patted down by some greasy-haired middle-aged security agent, running through what can only be described as a poorly designed series of corridors purposed merely to watch human beings panic while trying to find their gate, and finding your seat on the plane only to discover that you are squished into the window seat next to some bitchy, skinny woman in her 60's donning a fanny pack and fiercely clutching a Reader's Digest who gives you a look as if to say, "Leggings are not an excuse for pants", and then awkwardly giving everyone a line-of-vision view of your stomach while trying to force your carry-on into an impossibly tiny and mysteriously packed overhead compartment, you STILL have your bloody neck pillow to make everything better. Thank you, Brookstone.
