Day 1 1/4: The Air Up There

Kafluffle over and once again dressed, Sandy and I collect our things and dash through the almost empty terminal in search of the breakfast of champions.

The coffee shop is closed. The sandwich store is closed. T.G.I. Fridays is open, and we engage in heavy debate: do we really feel like French fries before the sun comes up? When the announcer woman gets her butt on the intercom to announce that flight bla bla bla is boarding.

Cheese Louise, that’s us. So much for breakfast. We board, we sit, we takeoff and share a cold $2 blueberry muffin unearthed from the bowels of American Airlines. I know airline money is tight these days and typed on most tickets is, “Food for Purchase,” but can’t they at least make the effort to sell something passable? Who on earth likes cold muffins?

Anyhoo, while on the flight, we waste no time whatsoever in joining the Mile High Club. Nah, we didn’t do that. Too stuffy, too cramped and by gum, too early.

And too gross. I know it may sound all adventurous and exciting to have sex at 30,000 feet, and I’m sure it is if you’re in the Concorde bathroom, but American Airlines coach in the A.M. is a bit of a different story. One might say it’s not too far from the notion of two Mexican jumping beans frolicking in a thimble, with loud flushing noises in the background.

Thus, we behaved like normal passengers. We napped, we talked, complained about lack of leg room, and watched the Pixar movie Cars. We held hands, kissed a few times, and did all that normal disgusting stuff that couples do. Nausea, I tell you.

We had a connector in Texas, but our plane touched down in Dallas almost a half hour late. Hello, Dallas! Goodbye, Dallas. Seriously, that's all it was. Exit from gate B10, u-turn Wolfgang Puck's, then check in at gate B11. We barely made it in time to get settled into our seats, purchase a $5 snack box complete with raisins and pepperoni stick, then watch The Lake House.

A movie about two people that find each other through difficult (read: ridiculous) circumstances because they are meant to be. Prophetic, perhaps? Stay tuned.

Uneventful flights are the best kind, though Sandy let me squeeze his hand when the turbulence got a little too frantic for me. Airport Neurosis. We landed, got our stuff and booted down to pickup, but the effort had been for naught. American Airlines had lost our bags.

Me: “I thought pigeon crap was supposed to be good luck!”

He: “Me too!”

Sigh.