I love flying and everything about air travel. But in my overly (probably unnecessary) kind-of-upset'ed'ness-about-getting-older obsession, I could not help but notice...
My seat belt - And how small it was from the previous passenger. I normally have to cinch it in to fit because someone bigger was just in the seat. But this trip (my holy crap I'm 40 trip), nope. I had to make that thing BIGGER! So automatically I assume some skinny young thing was last in there...Bitch. Life sucks, shoot me now.
Then comes the I-drank-a-bottle-of-water-before-boarding oopsy that came back to say hello half an hour in. This plane configuration has a small aisle just big enough to accommodate my rear without turning sideways to avoid knocking people with it (and I do not have a big rear!)
So genius me took the window seat which meant that I had to climb over hubby in the middle, and our aging row companion in the aisle to hit the loo. If I don't hit the loo, game over if I sneeze, or we hit turbulence.
My luck is that on the way back to the seat, bevvy service has started and the bevvy cart is just before my row so that I can't access it. I had to stand there with my butt head-level with the two occupied aisle seats for about 5 minutes waiting to pass. Air travel can give me gas...you get the picture. That was a long 5 minutes!
However, somewhere over the Pacific Ocean, January 26 turned into January 27, and I turned 40. Then we hit a time zone and we went back two hours and I pulled a Benjamin Button and turned 39 again.
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