Act Like You've Been There

"It's Like the Endzone." It's my husband's mantra. (He watches a lot of football.) It's a good one.

It can be applied to so many, many situations one finds oneself in, and allows for maintenance of a calm demeanor and appropriate reactions to things. Like you've been there.

Neither was the case for me on my flight on Friday night. Quick background: my husband is a consultant, and for a good while there, flew back and forth to clients, building up tons of miles on various and sundry airlines. So, he got some of that good ol' fashioned "status."

His "status" and my "genius" got married, and landed me in First Class for my flight down to Charlotte this weekend. First is not a big deal. You get a cushy seat, they look you in the eye, take your long coat from you to hang. No biggie.

Unless, of course, you are ME. And you decide to drink.

I'm not gonna go on and on about how it wasn't my fault. How she kept coming after me the ENTIRE (50 min) flight, smiling, pouring the Cabernet, or how irresponsible it is to drink before having dinner when you're a self-professed lightweight. But, when you get little time to yourself, another friend is on the plane, you're headed down to a bunch of girls you used to party with, oh and it's F-R-E-E, things happen.

It happened. I was hammered. I was crank my iPod, sing softly to myself, glare at the gentleman beside me, hammered. I was whip out my pen and paper to write poetry hammered. (Yes, I will share that in the next post.)

Embarrassing? Slightly (mostly for my friend.) Liberating? Absolutely. Who cares if it was a bottle of a cheap Cabernet that I'm pretty sure one other dude shared with me? I managed to get my roller suitcase out the overhead and didn't knock myself out, right? I coaxed a few smiles out of the Captain and my temptress flight attendant. That counts for something.

I then coaxed my friend into catching up with me once we arrived in the airport... and... Let's just end the story there.