A few weeks ago, I flew to Missouri for a wedding, an arduous trip that involves several non-direct flights to St. Louis, 4-5 hours in the car with various crabby family members, and no cell phone signal for much of the way. After many years of near nervous breakdowns on this very journey, I was prepared this time with mini bottles of liquor and a positive attitude.
I had just read a story about a criminally adorable couple who met on a Delta Airlines flight then later got engaged at the same airport they met at. The type of story that married people refer to when they try to give 30++ single people well meaning but crappy advice about finding true love like “Mr. Right isn’t going to come knocking when you’re at home in your Pjs” (true, but why do people assume that single folks have nothing better to do than wear PJs 24-7?). I also love it when people say I need to “go out more” as if that ever results in anything other than being clawed at by a bunch of drunks and a not so fun trip to locate the car the next morning. Oh, and “singles church groups?” Hahaha! This is where you could meet the man that makes a federal prison inmate look like a catch. And forget triathlons or any other athletic event. This is where women are men and the men shave their legs.
But I digress. Back to my newfound positive attitude as my negative one obviously hasn’t helped me find anything other than a high level of stress and no dates on Friday night. I too could find love at the airport. My family has always said I need to go back to my roots and get me a true “corn fed” tall Midwestern man (I’m 5’11 and getting really tired of slouching to better accommodate my insecure short dates). A journey to the “Show Me” State HAD to be a lottery ticket to this mysterious “corn fed man” I’ve heard so much about. Even though my flight was at 6am and I nearly let my crazy flag fly when I found out there was no coffee available, I was prepared. Looking cute, coordinated, and smiling with my kick ass white teeth (thanks White Strips!), I thought about how nice it is that Southwest Airlines has free baggage (which allows me to bring additional fabulous outfits and shoes) AND “open seating.” Prior to reading that article about the too adorable Delta couple, I never thought about the endless possibilities offered by open seating. It had to be easy…take your time getting on the plane and sit next to the hottest guy there. Or better yet, look so irresistible that Mr. Midwest has no choice but to run through the aisle, pushing through multiple passengers just so he can sit down next to yours truly.
Back to reality. I took my place in the “cattle call” style line to board the plane. No eligible singles in line which was OK, they must already be on the plane. I slowly boarded, strategically looking for the male equivalent of the Chupacabra (a rare and mythical creature), but was nearly blinded by the flash of wedding bands as married men valiantly helped their wives with luggage and baby strollers. Determined to stay positive, I headed towards the back of the plane and sat in an empty row. Time for Plan B: smile and look fun and friendly (a sharp contrast to how I usually appear on an airplane at 6am). After a brief solo struggle with my own bag, I managed to get it in the overhead without accidentally killing someone (a minor miracle) and sat down, ready for my foolproof plan to take effect. Many people passed by, none meeting my criteria. My positive attitude was not to be deterred. Until a large (large in many ways including both number and body size) Korean family came clamoring up the aisle, briefly stopping near my seat (“Dear Lord” I thought to myself, “Please tell me this isn’t happening.”) But it was. Like something out of a Seinfeld episode, I hear “We sit. We sit right here!” And suddenly, I was surrounded by fat rolls and an elderly tribe of foreign tourists. My foolproof plan was over before the plane started to taxi down the runway. I was not going to star in an article about how my man proposed to me in the friendly skies and I had to reach under someone’s fat roll to find my effing seatbelt. “It’s OK” I thought to myself as I looked around at the haggard families with their screaming kids, already in need of a massive diaper change. Once again, I am right, and all you well meaning married folks who dole out subpar advice because you met your spouse before the economy tanked and people stopped dating are SO wrong.
Cheers!
Broke Down in the Friendly Skies
