Well, I'm home, and it's damn cold here! Tampa was in the 80s last week, and Philly was around 70 while I was there the past few days, but I return to Chicago to find rain and upper '30s. Blah.
I will say that the guy who sat next to me on the plane back was probably one of the biggest fuckwads I've met recently. Older man, early '60s, who looked up as we were pulling out of the gate. I pointed out the glad fact that the only empty seat on the flight was the one between us, and he looked me over and said, "We're going to need it." I was not too sure I had heard what I heard, and then he reached over, tapped my stomach, and asked if I was doing anything about the weight. I looked at him rather flabbergasted, and he said, "I'm a doctor," as if that made such outrageous rudeness all right. I stammered something about swimming and treadmill, and then he actually asked me how much I weighed. I finally pulled myself together and told him that I didn't feel comfortable answering that since he wasn't my doctor.
He left me alone after that.