On Saturday morning I read two New Yorker magazines cover to cover, spent time with my children, nibbled chocolate chip cookies while sipping Dunkin’ Donuts coffee, and caught an episode of HGTV’s Curb Appeal, which was hosted by an architect/designer who is way, way too good looking to be an architect/designer — but, like, who cares.

Saturday morning was awful.

My family was scheduled to fly from Boston to Los Angeles on an 8 a.m. Jet Blue flight, which meant leaving Cape Cod at 4:30 a.m. — assuming there were no technical difficulties with the alarm clock, which, of course, there were. We got up at 4:20, were out the door at 4:50, and crossed the Cape Cod canal just as the sun was rising and the moon was setting.

Yeah, whatever. Saturday morning was still awful. It’s airports. And airplanes. They’re just so . . . unpleasant. All those free-floating stress hormones. That recycled air. Those itty bitty seats (and I am a small person). There’s no getting around it: once you board an airplane, you are trapped.

Even so, there were highlights. The man across the aisle spent some time standing in the aisle, stretching his hips. It looked like he was doing the hula. Plus I got to eavesdrop on the pretty law student sitting in front of me: twenty-three years old, in a serious relationship with a UCLA astrophysicist (“We’re not engaged or anything, but we both know it’s going in that direction”). I was a little disappointed that she didn’t make the requisite “my boyfriend is a rocket scientist” joke. Also disappointed that she was so normal. If you’re going to eavesdrop, you want a touch of the crazies.

The highlight of my flight — I’m not even kidding — was my fork. Before boarding, I bought a Wolfgang Puck Express (sounds way better than it is) salad that came with a folding fork. A folding fork!! How cool is that?

Note: when a folding fork is the highlight of your day, it’s not a good day.