Save Me, San Francisco (part two)

At the airport, check-in was fairly uneventful. It wasn't at all crowded, so the lines were short. I'm so focused on doing everything right, and not forgetting anything, that I sometimes forget to breathe, calm down, and relax. In fact, most of the time I feel like I'm going to throw up (why it's good to skip breakfast on air days). Somehow I just know they will find the gun in my luggage, the dagger on my belt, or my bullet box full of weed in my laptop bag. Vacations are supposed to be fun! But all the rules make me feel like I am going to screw up and get arrested for just thinking about explosives.

They have those new body scanners, now, and it would be my first time going through one... Great, I mused, now my secret would be out, that I stuff my bra, and I'm really a 36-A, haha!

But then I realized that my shapewear and super supportive bra would suddenly become invisible while I basically looked naked on the screen, and this scan might be the best I'd ever look without clothes! I wanted to ask if they could print me out a copy, and also perhaps email the file to me.

But when I got up there, the woman told me to put my hands up over my head.

That's when the silliness of all the nerves and sleep deprivation hit, and all I did was "Y, M, C, A!"

"What are you doing?"

"The YMCA dance."

"The what?"

"The YMCA dance!" I made the movements with each letter "Y... M... C... A?"

"Oh! Yeah! I teach a class at the YMCA, so I thought maybe you knew me from there."

"Nope. Just having fun."

"Have a great flight!"

Ron: "What was that about?"

"I was doing the YMCA dance. She teaches a class at the YMCA."

He laughed, "You talk to everybody... jeez. Get your bag."

On the plane, the gentleman sitting next to me was going to San Francisco with his mother (seated a couple rows in front of us) and flying for the first time. I was thrilled!

I was so excited to show him everything! During the take-off instructions, I asked if he'd seen Fight Club. He had. I knew we'd be fine.

The movie on the plane was Country Strong, which I purposely did not use the headphones for, because I'd have sung along to all the songs, forcing the other passengers to post facebook statuses like, "Flight was ok except for some idiot who belted out Summer Girl the whole way there."

Ron fell asleep and the flight attendant came by for trash. I pulled Ron's drink cup out of the seat pocket to hand it to her. It had been wedged, so when it popped free, the melted ice (we call that water) splashed out onto the front of Ron's pants, making it look like he'd wet himself. It was his own fault, really. We usually fly separately.

Half-way into the flight, a spot on my thigh started itching. I scratched it through my skirt. Soon after, another spot, then another! My thighs and even as far up as my ass had mosquito bites! From going outside with the dog in my underwear! Oh, this was worse than psychopathic murderers! I squirmed, fidgeted, and made my seatmates (though one was legally required to put up with me) miserable as well.

Finally, I used self-hypnosis and three benedryl to make the itching stop. I fell asleep shortly after that, until turbulence and the dinging of seat belt sign woke me up. Upon waking, I realized I was seriously invading the personal space of both my seatmates, having sprawled out in my drug-induced cat nap.

I don't think I drooled on anyone, and no one verbally complained. I assume they were just glad I was being still.

Still, I apologized to my Newbie Seatmate for using him as a body bolster and he said, "Hey, this is my first time. I didn't know it wasn't normal!"