So I am on my way to Austin to see my manfriend, which has hit its overdue date by far. I am on the plane listening to a little Radiohead, a little Placebo. Strange, I am so excited and in such a good mood but all I want to listen to is dark shhtuff. And I really need to use the designated lavatory. I have a window seat. Here goes this song and dance. Something that always weirds me out a little about using those spacious little powder rooms is that I can see every single person, man or woman, short or tall, large or small, knowing that their naked little (or not so little) rump is sharing the same porcelain. I like to give the benefit of the doubt. Maybe they all hover. Hmmph. Riiiiight.
Anyways, so yeah, I realllly have to go. So the woman next to me sleeping soundly. It would not be very neighborly to wake her up, so I'm like "Ok, I'll just wait till she wakes up." Aisle seat guy seems quite alert on his laptop. Why don't I take this time to strategize. The ever bewildering conundrum: crotch or butt? Which is the better way to scoot? I generally go butt, but I discovered that there is a hole in my leggings near, err, there which caused me to strategically choose my undergarments. Oops. So crotch it is. My sleepy neighbor wakes up. Time to make my move. I unbuckle. And then...noooooo...laptop guy fell asleep, laptop very conveniently placed on his tray table. Damn. Guess I'm holding. Then I had a thought. A mildly silly one. What if there were rest stops off exits in the highway in the sky? It's kinda Jetsons, yes, but if we can travel in a flying bubble from continent to continent in mere hours, it doesn't seem like that big of a stretch. Ahh, what I would give for a 7-11 at 35,000 feet.
I never got to go to the bathroom.
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