Saturday mornings are always off to a good start, when you answer the doorbell wearing a nightgown, only to greet two startled male Jehovah’s witnesses, who think your eyes are now attached to the end of your breasts, clearly visible beneath said night attire. Ah Oklahoma, the place where you spend your days saving a buck or saving a soul. Thirty years living here, and I still find it weird that people seem more concerned about your religious views and holy behavior, than whether or not you go and see your sick grandma at the nursing home, spend quality time with your kids and not cheat on your spouse. I guess family won’t get you into heaven, but going to church will…..but maybe that is just while you are living in Oklahoma? Go figure…..
So readers, we have returned from our travels to England and Scotland, the vast trek that took Forest Forest Gump (hereby referred to as double F to the G) out of his natural environment, and introduced him to the land of big ears and bad teeth (the teeth are much improved I am happy to report). A place of bountiful fish and chips, wonderful chocolate, real ale and women that have large breasts that are actually real (a virtual J.Witness paradise!!!!!). A land of rolling green pastures, fluffy sheep, scenery that literally takes your breath away and public restrooms that make you pay 50 cents to pee…….the only place in the world outside a doctor’s office where you will spend a fortune just on your bladder.
Double F was pretty excited about the trip. He took a few bad pictures of the 747 as we waited to board the plane in Chicago. We squeezed into our sardine tin seats, and I let him sit by the window while I took the middle seat and willed my Xanex to kick in before I started my panic attack. The flight from Tulsa to Chicago had been fine, other than the fact that the plane had belonged to Lilliputian Airways, and would be roomy for anyone with nine-inch long legs and the body of a large cat. Well at least these seats had slightly more room, and with my seat-belt clamped, my variety of carry-ons already uncomfortable between my ankles, I turned to Double F, ready for him to ease my terror of flying, only to discover that he had already fallen asleep…wow, we hadn’t even left the gate…..
Once airborne, I had reached the paralyzing mental state of realizing I could not exit the plane now, and so instead I focused upon my choice of dinner (don’t eat the fish) and my convincing pretense of having an interest in the conversation of the lady sitting next to me. I am sure she thought me fascinated by her chatter, when in truth I would have listened to someone speaking in Mandarin Chinese and enjoyed myself, as long as it kept my mind from the fact that there was 30 thousand feet between my shoes and the ground. I wished I was having a root canal, a lobotomy…anything other than doing what I was doing……..
Double F regained consciousness in time to eat his food, complain about how hot the plane was (I had told him night-flights were always chilly), and then went back to sleep. The dinner trays were taken away, the lights turned down and my neighbour settled into a relaxing doze. I sat like a fat book between tight bookends, with my IPad/Magazines/Crossword puzzles in my lap, and my elbows stuck to my sides, while the two sleeping bookends happily requisitioned both arm rests. My Xanex befuddled brain felt each bead of sweat that tried to pop out of my skin, while my hair stuck to the back of my neck like a hickey. I felt like a five-hundred pound woman wearing a pair of size 6 control top pantyhose…this was going to be a long journey.
As we reached the Atlantic, the plane experienced the kind of turbulence that makes you promise to be a better person if you can just stay alive, and I became a born again everything. Unlike the sleeping bookends, who just grunted and fidgeted and sighed in contented slumber, I sat frozen in total unadulterated fear, with nothing moving but my violent heartbeat and my blood pressure. Fortunately, the bumpiness did cease, and I felt like someone off Survivor…..well at least until I needed to go to the bathroom……….
At dawn, somewhere over the Atlantic, the lights were turned back on and people began to rouse. The little computer monitor in front of me, showed a cartoon likeness of the plane and it’s position over the sea, and with utter relief I saw that we were getting very close to land! Either side of me the bookends woke up, and Double F looked like I do every morning, when I awake in the deep clutches of a hot flash, as again he reminded me that I had encouraged him to wear warm jeans as ‘it gets cold on an overnight flight’…….understandably my sympathy was non-existent, at least he had slept. In a jiffy, tea was served (English tea…the good stuff) and after a quick breakfast the announcement came that we were preparing for our final descent. And this is when I actually start to enjoy the flight, and usually the time when I finally get my bravado, the one that conveniently forgets how many milligrams of a very strong sedative it had taken to get me onto the damn plane in the first place! Crazy I know, but I develop a swagger, one that declares that I could do this everyday…piece of cake…..
And then we landed…………………………….
Tune in next week folks…..
The Wandering Jude…….