Plane Journey 1

Plane journeys seem to hold bad karma for me, and my recent one was no exception.

I arrived at the airport forty minutes before departure, in keeping with airline recommendations. The lady behind the counter informed me I was late AND the last to check in. She couldn't guarantee that my bag would make it onto the flight. I said it was small enough for cabin baggage so I could take it with me. She said I already had a handbag and laptop, my disregard for airline regulations was disappointing, and I "had to, just had to" check the bag in. She made me sign a "i am a very naughty girl and i take full responsibility for the bag not arriving on the same flight as me, beat me please" document. I said, "I am going for a conference, if my bag does not arrive with me, I will have to attend in my jeans and skivvy." She looked at me as though to say, "And pray WHOSE fault is that?" What she actually said was, "Ooooooh it's gone now, look there it is, tripping merrily along the conveyor belt. Let's hope and pray shall we?" With one of those falsely bright smiles. Which I returned with one of my own dazzling ones. She then reluctantly gave me a boarding pass, perhaps she thought my so-called tardiness meant I should sit on the wing. "Seat number 18C, aisle seat", she said in an ominous tone of voice.

The plane was full and I got to row 18 with difficulty. Someone was in my seat, I groaned mentally and showed my boarding pass. The man looked at his wife and said, "She says this is her seat. Is that right?" I felt like replying, "No it isn't true, I have this penchant for false claims. I am a bad girl, didn't the ground staff tell you I signed a letter to that effect?" Of course, the good girl in me kept me silent. They consulted their documents and agreed with me. The problem now was that they were both wedged into their seats, and each time they tried to get up, all the seats on the aircraft were in danger of getting ripped off their bases. Woolly mammoths, that's what they were - Mister and Missus. I offered to jump over them and take the window seat if that would help. Mr WM said, "Thank you so much young lady, as you can see we are a little large". There were two falsehoods immediately apparent there - my being young, and them being only a little large. He overflowed everywhere, and when the food trolley went past, it side swiped him and took a chunk of his flesh off. He didn't seem to notice. Mrs WM's left thigh oozed into my seat, and though I offered fierce resistance, my flabby muscle was no competition for pure blubber.

The man behind me told me he was claustrophobic, so could I please be kind enough not to recline my seat. I smiled at him very sweetly as I thought terrible curses. The man in front reclined, and reclined. I wondered why he stopped only when the seat had trapped my knees, why not just lie down on my lap?
I then made the fatal mistake of drinking coffee and lots of water. Well, it was a 3 hour trip to the Australian West Coast, and I do get thirsty on flights. However I had disregarded the consequences of three pregnancies and difficult deliveries. I had forgotten the golden rule - never test the urinary continence of a multiparous woman. There were no distractions - I couldn't count clouds as it was dark outside. The inflight movie was Ice Age 2, The Meltdown. All that water, it was cruel. I couldn't even squirm, I was that boxed in. How I suffered, how I mourned my lack of discipline in doing pelvic floor exercises. When we landed, I am sure the speed of my disembarkation was a World Record. I should also get a medal for displaying fortitude under extreme provocation, a couple of golden drops on the seat the only sign that I was crumbling.