Wednesday, January 03, 2007

Come fly the unfriendly skies

Our return trip from the snowy southwest was actually much smoother than the way there; both kids slept on the longer of the two flights (AM, who is still under the weather, poor guy, slept for the whole flight), and instead of sitting 4 abreast we were 2-and-2 in consecutive rows, so Miss M kicked AM's seat the whole trip, rather than an innocent bystander. Our breakfast yogurts were confiscated by TSA, but I couldn't be mad because it was our fault for not eating it in the car and the TSA guy seemed pretty contrite.

But I have to know...what is it about bringing carseats on to a plane that makes people shoot such nasty looks? We paid for the seats! It's for the kids' safety! We're not asking you to install them.

I mean, if you prefer, we can just let Miss M slide out from under her regular airplane seatbelt and thrash around on Taxman's lap when she's not running amok in the aisles, rather than sitting buckled in (through turbulence, thank you very much), eating her way across the time zones. Cripes. I don't expect people to help us, but at least keep your rolling eyes and snarky comments until we're past. Maybe it's the kids rather than the carseats themselves? Should I make up a shirt for AM that says, "If I cry, it won't be for the whole flight; I nurse." ?

On a second nasty note, an old-school flight attendant on our 6:30 am leg seemed to be shamelessly flirting with a businessman who boarded at approximately 6:27. He was dressed in a suit, was nicely turned out, etc. (Given how late he boarded, he was probably the only person who wasn't up at 5 or earlier.) The flight attendant seating him complimented him on his clothes, complaining that "Nobody dresses nicely to fly anymore." What is this? The Golden Age of Flight? Maybe if you didn't pack us in like sardines and serve us two bags of pretzels on a 2 1/2 hour flight we'd be more inclined to wear something that might wrinkle. (I was wearing jeans instead of sweats, so she can kiss my well-dressed behind.) Oh, and then she complimented him on how good he smelled! Ick, ick! He did give his wife credit for dressing him, though, so he escapes with only a slap on the wrist for showing at the last second.

It is very good to be home.

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