Ripped from the pages of one of those princessy YA books

So, last night we went to the airport to retrieve the boy. We discovered the parking meters (metres?)–like wow–that function to organize and limit traffic there. We had about 20 minutes before scheduled arrival so we took seats in the area that face the frosted automatic doors through which international passengers pass after being customized.

It wasn’t a dull 20 minutes, scene-wise. There was the family of 4 daughters in their early 20’s and their parents…and then there was the Abandoned Princess. AP was about 13, long of hair and limb and carrying absolutely nothing except her cell phone–plastered to her ear–as she emerged from the restricted area into the lobby. She was in the company of a very young Customs agent, almost as coltish as the passenger. Although we could hear absolutely nothing of their drama, they were each way into pantomime so we had no trouble filling in the sound track:

Girl had arrived unaccompanied and expecting to be retrieved. Surprise! No retrievers on our side of the frosted glass doors. More furious phone calling. Customs agent caucusing between attempts. The body language was straight out of summer camp–barely older counselor taking on a camper’s family event in the making. Lots of hair tossing on both their parts (clean, exceedingly glossy hair, of course).

Then, in a move that would never be repeated south of the border, the Customs agent simply went bak to work, behind the frosted doors, leaving Miss Thang to work it all out or call for more help if she thought to need it. Apparent lack of concern that anyone was escaping into Canada unpapered.

And yes, our princess star was wearing purple shorts–the perfect princessy colour de l’age.


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