waiting

There's nothing like good luck on an overbooked plane to make you feel like the queen of the air. I think that's what's behind the gargantuan prices they charge for first class. The air france flight was stuffed, but, through some action of the universe, I ended up with an empty seat next to me. Since I was on the aisle, it meant I could misbehave in the most space imperialist way ever.

Toward the end of the flight I realized that there was a massive woman in the seat in front of me. Her row was full. If I had compassion, if I were, like, all Franciscan about it, I would have offered her my seat and taken hers. It would have relieved both her and her seat partners who were squeezed through the cracks. But, of course, I didn't. I was afraid I'd offend her. Maybe next time.

I was watching a fascinating french drama called "Bellamy" with Gerard Depardieu as a Maigrait-like detective on vacation who runs into a murderer. Part way through the stews announced that since about 35% of the people in the back couldn't get video, they were going to have to reset the whole system. I continued wathcing and felt soooo special, but, blip! They finally did turn off the system. When they finally got it going again about 1/2hr later, half the moives were ungettable. Fortunately, Bellamy was not one of them.

More re: the dinner at the historico place. It was, of course, swell. There was a table sporting three asian businessmen types. We were seated in the corner, and when the waiter came up to them, one of them pointed at me and said something, and the waiter turned around and looked and said something and then they all gabled and looked our way from time to time. What was it? My gorgeous looks? Did they think I was Goldie Hawn? Or did I have chocolate from a forgotten ice cream bar on my cheeks? It will ever be a mystery, but I took a picture of them for future reference.

And now I await himself who got stuck with yet ANOTHER cancelled Aer Lingus flight. Only this time the airline put up all 300 displaced passengers at a hotel for the night. It meant a missed conneciton in the AM, so he didn't leave Dublin until 1.30PM their time. I don't think I'll tell him about mine.

As the clock on the wall at the historico restaurant points out, it is now quittin' time for this blog.

Hasta manana, chicas....