I'm obsessed with Nicholas Sparks. I've literally read every single book, because every time I travel, at the airport, I always buy a new Nicholas Sparks book.
I had relatives who would go to Japan and bring back random stuff they bought at the airport or whatever - 'Ultraman' and 'Speed Racer,' stuff like that.
Being stuck in airports, you always end up buying perfume and sunglasses.
I like being comfortable at airports, in flip-flops with no jewelry on.
Every modern woman shops everywhere for beauty, but for me it's mostly the airport or the drugstore.
I'm always buying gadgets, especially at airports.
I fell for MUJI socks at their store in N.Y.C.'s JFK airport, and now I get them in bundles.
I enjoy popping in to World Duty Free at the airport and trying out perfumes - I can never resist a new scent.
All the airports kind of feel and look the same now. Some are more beautiful, some are less beautiful, but for the most part you're going to find a Starbucks in every airport. You're going to get your coffee and the 'USA Today' or 'New York Times' in every airport.
I buy Coppertone Water Babies in abundance at the airport, SPF 60 or 70. I like being pale; I like looking like a creature from the dead world. I like looking like a ghost.
I want my books sold on airport bookstalls.
I buy so much when I go through airports: I buy psychology magazines; I buy 'Mind,' another magazine, 'New Scientist,' 'Scientific America.'
I like to buy books at airports sometimes.
I buy all my perfumes duty free - I think people are fools not to.
Try to know where the best ice cream is in any given airport terminal.
I love Cheetos, those hot, spicy kind. And chocolate. Every time I'm in the airport I'm buying Cheetos and eating them on the airplane.
I've never missed a flight. And I don't see any reason in cutting it close because airports are pleasurable for me: You can go to the restaurant, get a massage, browse books, sit at a bar, check emails.
For families flying out of the U.K. for a winter getaway, airports should be the ideal place to pick up a bargain.
As soon as I walk down that sticky six-mile patterned carpet that welcomes you at Heathrow, I buy the Sunday papers and read the fashion supplements cover to cover. Even though hardly a single word in them seems directed at any male who ever lived, I find them compulsive reading.
My one guilty pleasure is, every airport, I will drop everything to get an airport massage at those kiosks.
