fly like an eagle
The flight back was a real humdinger.
There was this fussy, and by fussy I mean a real brat, toddler who was whining and screaming from Seattle to Chicago at 8 in the morning.
Guess who was sitting in front of me from Chicago to Newark. Yay. Anywho, fussy had an older sister who according to her mother "had texture issues". Sis had a sensitive gag reflex. About an hour into the flight, fussy induced vomiting from crying so much and then gaggy saw her puke and launched into her own vomitous spasms. It was like the daycare vomitorium. And then the kid who puked started crying and then the kids in front of them started crying and so on and so on.
ugh. Besides the kids being intolerable, the mother was one of those organic activist types who was hellbent on political correctness. I was surprised when she referred to herself as Jewish instead of something like "Jewish American persuasion" or some shit like that. Anyway, everything with this lady was an "issue". And she spoke using the royal "WE". "We have texture issues. We have a sensitive gag reflex. We have a stick crammed up our collective ass. It's causing us to have
anal resource issues."
I think I was pissed from the onset because there was another family hogging up both sides of the aisle one row in front of the organic super mom. They paid for four seats but somehow got six because they played the kid card. It was the aisle I was supposed to be sitting in. When I got on the plane, there was this smukey toddler who had pretty much licked my seat in anticipation of my arrival. Her dad looks at me and says, "You might want to sit somewhere else" and I'm sure he was trying to be nice but I felt like snapping back, "You might want to control that child." Don't get me wrong. . .for the most part I'm okay with kids but my sympathy meter was definitely running low and I was also tired from the airport and I didn't appreciate having to be the one to concede to the breeders. AND get the death look like I'M the intolerant asshole because I made a CHOICE NOT TO HAVE kids.
But on the bright side. . . at least I didn't end up with barfa-chunka-liscious in my hair. I'll remember that this thanksgiving.
There was this fussy, and by fussy I mean a real brat, toddler who was whining and screaming from Seattle to Chicago at 8 in the morning.
Guess who was sitting in front of me from Chicago to Newark. Yay. Anywho, fussy had an older sister who according to her mother "had texture issues". Sis had a sensitive gag reflex. About an hour into the flight, fussy induced vomiting from crying so much and then gaggy saw her puke and launched into her own vomitous spasms. It was like the daycare vomitorium. And then the kid who puked started crying and then the kids in front of them started crying and so on and so on.
ugh. Besides the kids being intolerable, the mother was one of those organic activist types who was hellbent on political correctness. I was surprised when she referred to herself as Jewish instead of something like "Jewish American persuasion" or some shit like that. Anyway, everything with this lady was an "issue". And she spoke using the royal "WE". "We have texture issues. We have a sensitive gag reflex. We have a stick crammed up our collective ass. It's causing us to have
anal resource issues."
I think I was pissed from the onset because there was another family hogging up both sides of the aisle one row in front of the organic super mom. They paid for four seats but somehow got six because they played the kid card. It was the aisle I was supposed to be sitting in. When I got on the plane, there was this smukey toddler who had pretty much licked my seat in anticipation of my arrival. Her dad looks at me and says, "You might want to sit somewhere else" and I'm sure he was trying to be nice but I felt like snapping back, "You might want to control that child." Don't get me wrong. . .for the most part I'm okay with kids but my sympathy meter was definitely running low and I was also tired from the airport and I didn't appreciate having to be the one to concede to the breeders. AND get the death look like I'M the intolerant asshole because I made a CHOICE NOT TO HAVE kids.
But on the bright side. . . at least I didn't end up with barfa-chunka-liscious in my hair. I'll remember that this thanksgiving.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home