It’s 6:45 am and I’m sitting at Gate B9 watching travelers from a red-eye arrive in Philly as we wait to replace their seats. It kinda grosses me out to be honest…thinking about who was sleeping, drooling, sitting or sneezing in a 2×2 space that I will soon occupy. I see a clean-cut handsome man come off the flight and I decide that I will pretend he was the occupant of my about-to-be-seat.
One of three guys to my left just announced, “I know my crab cakes”…I’m trying to listen to more but it’s too obvious and I’d rather listen to the Saturday morning news on the TV behind me. The TV is showing images of California fires. Awesome. They are closer to LA, so I hope they don’t get to San Jose before I get there.
I look around and see this guy. I pray he doesn’t have a seat next to me.
After sorting out a “weight issue to balance out the plane” I find my seat at 32A and am thrilled I have a window seat to watch the fluffy clouds (When I was a little girl I used to think I could run and play in them one day and toss them around like cotton candy.). I sit. A sturdy man with a sweet smile sits in seat C. I secretly hope B will remain open and then along comes the cutest guy on the plane. He’s sitting next to me…he’s from Canada. Yum. The 4.5 hour flight was looking to be a lot better then I had hoped.
I don’t know his name but he hasn’t changed his clothes due to a delay and he was stuck at some airline-funded hotel room somewhere in NJ last night. I ask if he has brushed his teeth. He says no and I offer him gum.
I like his hands. I like how he uses the back of the seat in front of us to make points in describing the economic and health benefits and differences between the US and Canada. We talk about sky diving, traveling, French cheese…and I find out…wait for it…he HATES American cheese.
I can feel the stress start to melt off of my shoulders as we rise above the clouds (too high for rain) and the sun shines brightly into the cabin. Canada is falling asleep. I’m listening to music on my computer and my skinny dipping feeling starts to tickle my feet.
The Final Dish:
I’d like a dish of Canada, please.
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