I told you guys about
my conflict with my MIL a few days ago, but I didn't tell you how the visit started. Hoo boy.
I'm all set to pick her up Friday at the airport at 3:53 pm. That morning, I check the flight status online, and my brain reads 4:53. "Hmmm," sez I, "my mistake. I won't have to leave till 3:30." It takes a little over an hour - so I'll be able to go at a leisurely pace (for once) and walk slowly into the baggage area - etc etc.
Careful planner that I am, I recheck the status at 2:45, and whaddya know, those clowns at Frontier have changed the arrival time back to 3:53! Gadzooks! 
So I throw my stuff together and pull out of the driveway at 3:00. Now I have to put the pedal to the metal. I pull into the close-in parking lot almost on time, feeling lucky to have found such a good parking place so quickly. I tell myself it's "D205" (or whatever) and rush in, immediately forgetting this.
I meet MIL right away, everybody's happy, she gets her big fat suitcase (which she pulls, of course - I'm no help there) and we head out into the parking lot. But the car isn't there. Oh, we'll find it in a minute! It's very close, after all! I know it's Level 2, and which way it's facing, and that there's a cement wall on the left. We walk back and forth for a long time, then she decides we should split up. So my 82-year-old MIL is roaming one side of the cold, darkening parking lot, I'm roaming the other...thankfully, I find a luggage cart and put my purse on it...I call her cell phone but she doesn't hear it. I start yelling her name, she's yelling mine. I just want Glinda the Good Witch to save us! (Did somebody steal my car?)
We finally cross paths, and she is understandably not amused. She swings her suitcase and stuff onto the luggage cart. I realize we should be in the EAST terminal lot, not the WEST. 
Ooops. Ha ha, silly me! We go inside, down the elevator, across the terminal, into the east lot. Now it'll be right there - but it - isn't! What the - - I remember the red button on my key thingie, 
and press it, but it doesn't go off (the one time you actually want it to!) Another long walk down every aisle, who knows how many times - cotton-pickin' -
We head back into the terminal and ask if there's someone who can help us. Yes! He will meet us in the parking lot. Out we go, there he is. There's only room for one, so MIL sits down on a step and I manage to climb into the high seat...and drive off with Parking Guy. I ask him if this happens often, because I don't want to be the Stupidest Person in the World, and he assures me yes, I'm not even the first this hour! (whew!) Is it this grey Corolla? No! That one? No! Try the red button again, and YES! but where is it coming from? It stops. We try adjacent lot. Nope. Back again. YESSSS!! Myy carrr!
It's about 30 feet from the building. It's now 6:00. I tip the guy $10 and we pour everything in, and my poor MIL has to now put up with me driving on a desolate highway in the dark, which I don't do very well...I try to explain Fibro Fog to her but I think she thinks - well, I don't know what she thinks.
I haven't walked that much in forever. I wished I could have joined her in a nice, stiff drink when we got home. Unfortunately, alcohol makes me feel awful.... 
so I can't.
Debbie