Rarely has their been a flight where I didn’t fantasize about being seated next to Mr. Cool, Traveling, Drink of Water. I’d tell him I’m a gynecologist and was part of the panel of researchers that found the G spot. He’d buy me a gin and tonic and share that he’s a Formula One race car driver. “Did you know your eyes match the color of your sweater?” He’d say. “Really?” I’d respond with a coy smile.
Our deep gaze would be interrupted by the pilot announcing that we were about to start making our decent. He’d scramble to learn what connection I was making, and I’d offer a light touch of his arm and a heart felt ‘thanks for the cocktail’.
Ahhh but this scene shall remain a fantasy, at least for now. Formula One didn’t find his way to seat 6C. Instead he gave it up for Cathy the cartoon character.
That’s okay. There’s always the connecting flight.
