My life was an oxymoron, a series of contradictions, misnomers, and inconsistencies. My road to happiness was once again covered with potholes, speed bumps, and flashing yellow caution lights. I was a contestant on Who Wants to be a Millionaire? having made it to the final question but having used all of my lifelines. It was just Regis and me. Regis, me, and that one question with four possible answers, none of which seemed like the right one to pick. Would it be A or C, B or D? Would I choose Damon’s drama, Langston’s Juicy, Curtis’s Mahalia, or Quinton and his never-ending episode of Lifestyles of the Rich and Jaded?

Whatever my decision, it was now three days before the event that my family had now branded “The Late Great Announcement.” The unveiling of my husband-to-be had, like a Tyson fight, turned into a media circus. By now I’m sure my mother had made a six-figure deal with pay-per-view or scheduled a prime-time interview with Barbara Walters, or optioned my rights to the Lifetime Channel for a made for T.V. docudrama. There were at least a hundred messages on my answering machine. Messages from relatives I had never seen or ever heard of up until now. Like second cousin Mertile from Macon, or Great Uncle Clarence from Cleveland, Aunt Daisy from Dallas. All with well wishes, all promises of kisses, all waiting for “The Late Great, Oh God we can’t wait” announcement.

I was scattered and my brain was in emotional overload. I needed some rest. I needed to relax and let go. Let go and let God. I was due a God moment. Especially since nothing else up until now had proven to work. So again I prayed, asking God to get me out of what I hadn’t had the courtesy of asking Him to get me into. Closing my eyes, quickly saying my prayers, I drifted off into a blissful rest. Nothing would wake me up. Not turbulence, not annoying announcements, not crying children, or a restless three-hundred-pound man whose body and booty had oozed from his seat into mine. Nothing. I managed to stay asleep, not waking until we had arrived at BWI Airport.

“Welcome to BWI Airport, where the local time is 6:35 p.m. We know you have several choices for air travel and since none of them were available, we thank you for choosing Transcontinental Airlines.”

The passengers gathered their bags, standing in the aisle for what seemed to be hours as they slowly exited the plane. I pulled my overstuffed rolling bag from the overhead bin and casually made my way down the aisle. I was happy that this was the last time I would see the inside of an airplane prior to making my announcement at the party.