Look, I don’t mean to be difficult, but…
(Oh, wait. Yes, I do. I’m actually on a lifelong quest to strike the perfect balance between difficult and invisible. So far, I’ve only really managed to achieve invisible, but I can tell that the public is pulling for me to finally achieve my full potential.)
If you’ve been reading this blog for any length of time, you know that I don’t like to fly. I’ll admit that this dislike may color my perception of the people around me (aka dangerous felons who will need to be put down by my lethal use of spork and synthetic blanket). I may also be a tad more sensitive to the behavior and casual conversations of those people similarly trapped in this flying canister.
However, I feel I need to issue some warnings to the traveling world—particularly if there is any chance that you may encounter me at some point during your jaunts.
I don’t want to hear “Oh, those onions-- I’ll be tasting those the rest of the trip” as you settle into your seat next to me. Hey, I understand. Digestive fortitude isn’t my thing either. Still, let’s refrain from sharing unless we really have no choice.
If you have large red patches up and down your legs, shorts might not necessarily be the best idea. However, I understand that you want to be comfortable. So, if you do go with the shorts that are so short as to leave no doubt the last time you had a good waxing, let’s not call more attention to the red splotches by asking the age old question “are both poison ivy and poison oak contagious?”
Gentlemen, I know robes are comfy, and brown is still a very “in” color for fall. No one can deny that a good hooded robe will really keep your ears warm in the sometimes over air-conditioned flight. Many a time I’ve thought, “hey, ceremonial robes would be so much more comfortable on that long flight”. I realize that I don’t know all of you tempted to try this—some of you may really be headed back to the monastery… or you may enjoy a rich and rewarding career as a shepherd. But unless you are actually traveling with your flock, or are actually Moses, let’s leave the staff at home, shall we? Six foot six inch be-robed men wielding what could be considered large offensive weapons make both passengers and airline officials nervous. The vague notion of flying with the embodiment of “Death” (despite the fact that you went with the less traditional brown instead of black and the staff isn’t curved enough to be considered a proper scythe) just doesn’t instill the kind of confidence the airline is trying to achieve.
Speaking of flocks… I love pets. I’m a pro-pet kind of girl. Sure, I’m allergic to everything under the sun, but I’m signing up for the “aw, how cute!” frequent exclamation league on a regular basis. Here’s what I don’t love—200+ passengers having their flight delayed because a woman pulling a Paris Hilton with a puppy and a pee pad hadn’t mentioned to the airline that she’d need special accommodation for said adorable creature.
I don’t profess to know how airlines normally deal with this thing, but I’m guessing they don’t love a person with an animal showing up and yelling “surprise!” Also, little known fact, when they say that a small animal can ride under the seat in front of you—they mean in a cage. No, really, they mean a cage—not your purse. And no, they don’t care if the animal is used to being stuffed in your adorable matching puppy bag. Also, if you don’t tell them ahead of time that you are bringing the adorable little nipper with you, they don’t know to avoid seating you in the row at the head of coach…the one with no seat in front of you (and therefore, no “at feet” storage area) thus rendering the lovely cage someone procured for you slightly less helpful.
Thank goodness they managed to move six other passengers so that the furry delight could sit next to you for the flight. But you have to be aware that the person sitting next to you might be allergic to the puppy and doesn’t deserve to sit next to the walking cause of respiratory distress for the nearly 5 hour flight (no, not me, thank goodness). The good news is-- I’m sure the man you trapped in his window seat totally didn’t mind not being able to get out and go to the bathroom for the duration of the flight. He looked fine. Really his reward was when you stopped crying about how victimized you felt and turned to cooing for the rest of the flight through lips that looked like emergency flotation devices.
Me? Cranky? Nah.