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| Yes, we would probably wear these exact hats. |
I had it all figured out. Then, I realized something; I can't fly coach to Sydney.
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| It's all blue skies and mountains until you have to fly for 17.5 hours with the commoners. |
Turns out, I am maxed out on economy travel when I fly from here to Orange County and back. There are techniques and precautions one can take, however, when one must fly coach. Let me enlighten you...
Rule #1 Get a manicure just before you hop on the plane.
Seriously, get a manicure at the airport. I like the Butter London (despite British implications in the name of the salon) at SeaTac. Then, just breeze on at the last minute with a pinky extended and a smug look that says, "Oh the door's about to close? I wouldn't know, they always hold it for me- can't you tell by my fancy pink nails?" You could also try shaking your head as if to say, "Another last minute photo shoot in L.A.... it's just not worth flying coach for this."
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| There is an x-ray called a "hand bone age;" it tells you if your bones are the same maturity as your chronological age. If there was a test named, "hand skin age," I would obviously be one million years old in this picture. |
Rule #2 Wear big sunglasses and a scarf. The whole flight.
Big sunglasses = movie star. The scarf is the perfect accessory to flip over your shoulder; thus, providing a greater radius between yourself and the commoners, as people will steer clear in attempts to avoid thwacks from your textiles.
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| Don't smile, though. It shows weakness. |
Rule #3 Have a driver.
While all the other fools are waiting for ground transportation along the lines of an airport shuttle or *gasp* a taxi, your driver will be waiting for you to notice the iPad with your name on the screen. Once you have spotted said driver, quickly glance him or her over to ensure you are not stepping into the vehicle of a serial killer. As you step into your plush seat in the town car, a non-murderous driver will kindly load your bag in the trunk. This allows you to sink into your leather seat, sigh with relief that you have survived another flight with the commoners, and strategically plot out your first cocktail acquisition upon arrival at the hotel.
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| If you should be so lucky as to find one, I recommend a Coronita (Margarita with a mini Corona that slowly infuses into the mix as you drink it- obvi.) |
So, you see, these three simple steps can help you endure flying coach for an approximate duration of 2.5 hours. This leaves me approximately 15 hours short of sanity, should I be subjugated to flying this way to Australia.
I tried to explain this to Eric. As you might of guessed, he was a bit of a hard sell.
Me: I don't think I can go to Australia for Christmas
Eric: *Sideways glance*
Me: Yeah, I can't fly coach all the way to Australia.
Eric: Yes you can.
Me: No! I really can't. I am already antsy, and this flight is only two and a half hours long.
Eric: You're always antsy.
Me: No, you don't understand. I am in the middle seat. You never have to sit in the middle seat
because I always take middle when we fly together.
(For the record, I volunteer to take the middle seat because Eric is a giant human compared to me.)
Eric: *considering* Sometimes we mix it up.
Me: Name one time!
Eric: ...
Me: You see! I have to fly a minimum of business class to Australia- if not first.
Eric: Fine. You can fly first class-
Me: YES! I knew it-
Eric: -As long as you pay for it.
Foiled again.
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| Just when I think I've outsmarted him, he goes all David Caruso and CSI Miami's my ass. "I think her hopes of flying first class have... *sunglasses on* crashed." YEAAAAAAAAH! |
And so, we find ourselves at an impasse.
Time to get a manicure, find a scarf + big sunglasses, and hire a driver.
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| Do you think he's onto me? |
