Plane Gingerale

Flying has never been a relaxing experience. I don’t think most of us think before leaving for the airport, “What a treat! This should be especially nice!” But that’s because we aren’t looking at it with the right perspective. Do me a favor, gather up a few of your favorite kids (legally and in a non-pedophilic way). Download a couple of movies, a couple of shows (the kind that sing and make you want to use the emergency exit) and then stage a coup to seize the dollar aisle at Target and every sticker book they offer. Battle through the longest war ever waged on your sanity and then imagine someone telling you the next time you flew you would be alone (as a sort of reward for surviving).  I feel like it would be similar to doing jail time and then having the option of either more jail time or sitting through a lecture on the beginnings of Pyrex. Not great options but maybe the art of storing food is something you could get behind. To be clear, nobody has offered me this beautiful gift but as I am about to get on a plane I cant help but to sit here and dream of the unattainable.

When I was single I would fly a lot because I was always going back to visit my folks. Those were the days. Scouting out a seat next to either a very petite grandma or perhaps a handsome soldier (he didn’t have to be a soldier but it didn’t hurt). Once a guy “accidentally” left his book behind and when I checked the cover he had left his number and a message. I almost called him until my roommates convinced me that he was probably a sociopath. Oh and sometimes I would actually use that fancy little recline button and let my eyes glide over these pages that had letters that were very meticulously arranged into words. What was that called? Oh yeah…reading. Oh and another time I got a drink, and I drank it. I think it was Gingerale. Who am I kidding, of course it was Gingerale. Plane-Gingerale: the thing of dreams. I miss Plane-Gingerale *falls to knees and begins sobbing*

So wish me luck and for the love of all that is holy do not tell me I’ll miss these days. Miss late nights? Sure, I believe that. Miss days at the playground? Definitely. Miss having someone to grocery shop with/throw food out of the cart? Yeah, fine. But miss hours of trying to convince them to stay in their seat, fend off a barrage of dirty looks, keep a straight face when my kid asks if you’ve got a baby in your belly, recite lines to Nemo because the volume isn’t high enough, change a poopy diaper on my lap, not pee for 6 hours straight…nope. These are things that can live in the past. Buried, deep, deep in the past.

“I am not afraid of an army of lions led by a sheep;
I am afraid of an army of sheep led by a lion.”

-Alexander the Great

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4 thoughts on “Plane Gingerale”

  1. One of my favorite observations was that if Blair ever flew alone with a baby, he was like a hero. Every woman would compliment on what a great Dad he was or would offer to take the baby from his arms and hold it for the flight. He almost always got to sit alone or got a free seat next to him because the stewardess thought it was so cute that a guy would fly alone with the child. (Many times I was just sitting in a different row or had gone to get a donut and would come back to witness this special dad&baby treatment. As a mother, if you are holding a baby and boarding airplane, everyone looks at you like you are carrying a bomb. Yet another double standard I hate.

    1. I’ve seen this phenomenon in grocery stores too. Everyone thinks a dad shopping with a toddler is unbelievably adorable and selfless, but when I show up with both kids they throw rotten fruit

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