That's What She Said

So, Cape Cod, y'all.

I left Friday morning and the plane ride Made. Me. Nuts. Let me break it down for you.

The first person-to-person encounter I witnessed was some bitchy lady not wanting to put her computer bag under her seat to make room in the super-over-crowded plane for another woman's too-big-for-under-the-seat carry-on. I guess she just...didn't feel like it? Way to be a team player. Awesome. I spent my first ten minutes on the plane glaring holes into the back of her little pinhead. Then, before we even got off the ground, I laid my head against the window and fell asleep. Until we landed in Detroit for my layover. Turns out that nap would really come in handy because the second leg of the trip was when it all went to shit. Bitchy computer bag lady was just my warm-up.

I shuffled my two enormously heavy bags (I'm a nice wife and carried Zack's suits for him so he wouldn't have to check a bag...off to Minneapolis from Cape Cod, remember?) down the narrow aisle of the plane and finally - sweet Jesus, FINALLY - got to my seat, which was by the window. An elderly Filipino couple were already seated in the aisle and middle seats next to mine. The man got up to let me by, but the woman, oh she looked up at me all smug and said "You go over" and gestured over her lap. Uhhhh..?

"I don't actually think that will work. I won't fit there."

Gestures again to the impossibly narrow space between her knees and the seat, "You go over."

"Ma'am, I'm really not going to fit. I think you're going to have to get up to let me pass."

And thankfully, she did.

Now cut to the surround-sound wailing of two babies at either end of the plane. And the mom with her two school-aged children giggling behind me and KICKING MY SEAT. Incessant with the kicking and the TALKING REALLY LOUD OVER THE PLANE ENGINE. Oh my glorious, glorious iPod. That tiny little box of wonder saved me from life in prison on murder charges because had I not been able to tune those fuckers out I might have had to fling myself over the seat and strangle them in rage. But the iPod was my happy place.

And then...then...

Oh my holy Lord. I can't even properly describe to you what was definitely the most offensive and horrifying fart I have ever had the displeasure of smelling. I mean, this was an epic, clinging fart that undulated throughout the cabin in waves. I'm pretty sure that I smelled like a fart until my next shower. And no amount of turning my head or shifting my position helped lessen its stink. It finally began to die down as we landed in Providence (oh, the irony of landing in Providence was not lost on me, friends). So of course once we are at the gate and the plane's engines are off (so it's getting all hot in the cabin because we're smashed in like sardines and everyone's trying to will their way off the plane by moving toward the door before it's actually opened) the horrible fart returns because my life isn't bad enough in this moment.

And then I blew up the plane.

But what really happened was that I shuffled off the plane in much the same manner as I had shuffled on (now cursing Zack and his FUCKING NEED FOR THREE SUITS BECAUSE WHO REALLY NEEDS THREE SUITS OH MY GOD) and I waited for Zack's plane to arrive, 40 minutes after my own. And when it did I relayed to him my FUCKING story about the FUCKING people on my FUCKING plane, complete with extensive hand flailing and yelling for dramatic effect.

And he was all cute and sympathetic and appropriately outraged at my suffering and it made me slightly less mad about carrying his heavy-ass suits.

And thus we began our weekend.