August 11, 2006

Boarding Call

I'm not much of a fan of flying anyway. I get headaches (surprise), I can never decide if the seats are getting smaller or my butt is getting bigger, and after reading an article about recirculated air, I try to hold my breath. Which of course means turning a funny colour, and panting like an old dog every few minutes. That's the way to get the window seat. That's the way to get the whole row, actually.

I usually just try to read, and wait for the dulcet tones of the drink cart to come trundling down the aisle. It's hard to concentrate while playing the 'who gets the armrest' game, or to resist an emergency limb amputation of the little puke who's kicking the back of your seat. A couple of gins usually makes me surrender the armrest, and the scalpel.

Now I'm worried though. What if liquid terrorism takes away my liquid courage?


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