Youngest has just told me in a pleasant, informative tone, apropos
of nothing, that I am mean and Beloved is nice.
He must have noticed the look on my face, because he amends this to,
“well, you are nice, but Daddy is
nicer.” Youngest is not without
compassion. He pats my hand in a benevolent
manner and charges off for some serious Lego building. As I finally finish my unpacking from the
trip we returned from a week ago, I ponder why I am mean. First of all, my room is a mess, and I’m in a
bad mood. I’ve been using my suitcase as
my closet, picking out whatever happens to be on top to be my outfit for the
day. Why is it if you don’t unpack the second you get home the bags just become
permanent fixtures at the place where they were dropped? Or maybe that’s just mean old lazy me. I tell myself it’s because I just put others
needs before my own, but that doesn’t entirely work, and I drop this line of
reasoning fairly quickly. Maybe Youngest
is mad because we went away for 10 days…maybe children are like dogs and they
punish you for leaving them. Even that
doesn’t wholly ring true. My children
love Rowena so much that they keep asking, hopefully, if we have any more
travel plans in the near future. I think
back to our blissful trip celebrating our biggie wedding anniversary. Is it possible it was only two weeks ago that
we started out? Life seemed so full of
promise then. Excitement was in the
air. It was if anything could and would
happen.
It all came about because Beloved and I were invited to go
to a birthday party being celebrated in
I haven’t been on a trip without my children for so long I am
excited by the prospect of being on a plane for 10 hours with just Beloved. I imagine us having long
conversations covering all the topics we never seem to have time for at
home. I know this is not to be the case
when an hour into the flight I realize the very serious-looking Beloved is
actually playing Wurdle on his iPhone and not
doing the necessary and serious work he said he had to do if he was to, “take
all this time off!!” I don’t really care
though, because for the first time in a long time, I am
going to be the passenger without noisy, messy, kicking-the-seat in-front-of-them
children. Beloved has sprung for seats
at the front of the bus (with miles that were about to expire, but who’s
counting). I find myself irrationally
hoping there will be a crying child on the flight I can give stern looks to and
exhale noisily about. There isn’t a noisy
child (sadly) but there is a very noisy and proud adult male passenger. He embarks wearing gray
sweatpants and slippers (Beloved says they are just practical and comfortable
shoes but I disagree). He has his
Personal Air Ionizer looped around his neck and instructs his poor mousy
bullied wife, also in sweat pants and slippers, to follow his lead…he is a
1K!!! I kick Beloved in a humorous,
“getta load of this guy” way but Beloved returns his usual firm, “mind your own
business” look. Easier said than done...I
become obsessed with 1K. It isn’t hard
as everything he says is obviously meant for the rest of the plane to hear. While Beloved and I are gobbling up the salty
toasty nuts and downing champagne, 1K snatches the champagne glass out of poor
wife’s eager hands and gives the nuts back to the flight attendant, saying the
salt will make you bloat and the champagne will de-hydrate you. EVERYONE knows you don’t drink on a
flight. It makes the effects twice as
strong (Beloved and I look at each other thinking isn’t that precisely the
point?). When the flight attendant comes
around to ask for our dinner order, 1K says, loudly, “my wife and I have
pre-ordered the vegetarian low-sodium option…AS I USUALLY DO.” Beloved and I tuck into the filet mignon
smothered in salty gravy and decide we’ll follow our white wine with a nice
glass of
he activities I want to
cover. As I look at my pile of People, In-Style, Star
and In-Touch, the Georgette Heyer novel I’ve been waiting to start, the two
movies I’d like to watch and the ice-cream cart they’re just starting to come
around with, I hear 1K tell poor wife, “NOW IT’S TIME FOR US TO GO TO SLEEP!” I can see her look longingly at The Proposal but 1K has already plopped
her seat down and thrust eye shades in her hands. He’s still talking as she drifts off telling
her how when they arrive they will take a brisk walk in the sun, have a light
dinner then early to bed so they can immediately recalibrate to Italian
time.
I look fondly at a now bleary-eyed Beloved who’s saying, “yes, of course I’d like to try a glass of port” and realize even after all these years we still have so much in common. I reach over and steal his phone so he’ll be forced to talk to me if I decide I need to, but for now I happily settle in to reading about who Jennifer Anniston is dating, how much Lindsay Lohan weighs and what the adoption rate is up to with Angelina and Brad (I still don’t approve). I’m feeling ever so nice…if only Youngest was here to see me.
Love the happy ending. I can't understand how people can just put themselves to sleep on those flights...without the help of drugs that is. One just can't decide it's "time" to sleep and shove on the eyeshades. Another note: my yoga teacher did tell the class the other day that squatting periodically on long flights is a good way to boost your leg circulation. We all laughed though when she told us while we squatted facing eachother, that one just needs to be sure to wear underwear.....
Posted by: Angelica | October 28, 2009 at 10:35 PM
We are waiting to hear about the super glam birthday celebration....with photos!
Posted by: Sara Sterling | October 30, 2009 at 02:50 PM
Lol!!! Love your blog! I am frequently on 14hr plane rides and I people watch too! It passes time :)
Posted by: natasha | November 09, 2009 at 07:42 AM
1k ! great post I love reading your blog.
Posted by: E cig review | February 05, 2010 at 08:52 AM