Last weekend my husband flew me to San Diego. It was either that or one of our other family members was going to get voted off the island. So they chose me, since I was a grouchy puss. So I got some much needed non-mommy time logged in.
I have come to the realization that I attract freaks. Especially when I travel. Particularly when I travel alone.
This trip, I sat next to weirdo extraordinaire. We'll call him Bob. I'm not sure why, except I can't remember his name and the name Bob amuses me. No...I don't know why.
I am a claustrophobic freak. So I get online early and reserve myself an aisle seat so that I can maintain my sanity while hurtling through the air at light speed in a metal tube. (Yes...I know it isn't light speed, but I don't know how fast it goes so geez...give me a break) Bob decided that I need a window seat and kept pestering me to change places with him. He was good natured enough and finally just told me he pees alot. Ok. Then says, "Your dad is my age. He has the same problem." How he has obtained that tidbit of personal information by just looking at me I found most intriguing.
Bob then takes the opportunity to tell me that his wife could not make the trip so he plans on consuming "alot" of beers. So when the beverage cart goes by, he proceeds to order THREE at once. And yes...they served it to him. I ordered a diet coke. Bob found this in poor taste, leaned over me and told the attendant that no....I would like a margarita. I was too dumbfounded and frankly, amused, to say anything. But, alas, they did not have margaritas. So I got my diet coke. Bob pouted. He told me diet coke was boring and sulked into his beer.
Then we were served lunch. I am always suspicious about airplane food. So I off handedly mentioned I was just gonna eat the brownie. Bob was delighted and offered me his brownie in exchange for my enchilada. That works for me.
This is when Bob decides that if we run out of chocolate and beer we shall then "skip up and down the plane holding hands" until they give us more. I just wink at him. Sure, Bob. Sure.
"You are so much more fun than my WIFE!" Bob yelled. Big sigh.... "My wife would never skip around an airplane holding hands with me."
So Bob happily munches down his enchiladas as I nibble on my own brownie. When I am done, he plops down his brownie as well with a big old sloppy grin on his face. So proud to have a worthy offering for me. I smiled, and pushed it to the side for later. Bob glared at the brownie...back at me...at the brownie.
"Eat it!" He proclaimed.
I tried to tell him that I just ate one and even I, president of Chocoholics Anonymous, need to pace myself. Bob was not impressed.
"I'm good, Bob. Really."
"I will Bob, in a little bit."
"Eat it....eat it....eat it...."
After about five minutes of trying to explain to Bob why I would wait for a while. I ate the damn brownie.
The flight was pretty calm after that. Except for the fact that I became increasingly alarmed as he downed a total of SEVEN beers during the flight. At which point he became very affectionate, patting my leg and kissing my hand. It was bad enough that I had to start planning at which point I would have to actually punch him in the face. But he was able to keep his hands to himself enough for me to refrain.
But at least, he was great entertainment and made the time fly by. I'm sure he will be very disappointed when he sits next to someone on his flight back who will inform him that no...they will not skip. Poor Bob.