Bits and Pieces

It is not uncommon for people to leave things behind like a bag in the overhead when they fly, or a pair of glasses at a restaurant or even their phone in a cab. I prefer to leave something a bit more ...personal.

Awhile back, I was fortunate enough to score an aisle seat on a ten hour flight next to a husband and wife from California. Shortly after take-off, both of them nodded off, and I was able to read my book in peace and quiet (Woo-hoo! An on-time flight and no annoying seatmates. How often does that happen?).

While I read, I began worrying the nail on my thumb which hadn't seen a manicure in weeks and had begun to rip despite my best efforts. Read, pick, read, pick, read, flick! The entire top of my fairly long nail went flying off and landed right in the lap of the husband who happened to be sitting next to me.

Glancing at the couple's faces to make sure they were still sleeping, I pondered what to do.
Did I, A: reach over and try to grab the nail before either of them woke up or, B: sit on my hands and cast suspicious looks at the flight attendant? Decisions, decisions.

I dismissed scenario B as being impractical. How could I cut into the dried-out, brick-like piece of cardboard masquerading as a chicken dinner with only one hand? I contemplated the first scenario. I could envision one of both of this nice, middle-aged couple waking up just as my hand made a grab at hubby's nether-regions. What could I say? "Don't mind me, I'll be done here in just a minute" or "Hi there. Just retrieving a bit of DNA from your husband's lap."? Somehow, I didn't think either of these would go over too well, and we had a really long flight left ahead of us.

So I decided to take the only option left to me. I would somehow create enough wind to blow it right off his lap. After all, it was a teeny, tiny little thing. How hard could it be to move it? Grabbing my blanket firmly by the edge, I began to fluff it frantically up and down. The nail didn't budge so much as an inch. Great.

I took the Skymall magazine and fan it back and forth vigorously enough to create a small tornado. The nail stayed right where it was. Jeeze, was it glued to the guy?

By now, I was starting to get some strange looks from the woman across the aisle who was huddled under a blanket, sweater and jacket against the sub-zero temperatures they keep the planes at these days. I had one last idea before I would have to revisit the snatch and run scenario again.

Taking my book, I flapped and flipped and fanned and fluffed. But still the nail didn't budge. Now the woman was looking a little scared and glancing around the plane as though she might seriously be considering trading her aisle seat for a middle as long as it was far, far away from Typhoon Mary.

Fortunately, we were both saved from further action by the arrival of dinner. In the confusion of waking up and trying lower his tray table, the nail disappeared somewhere in the folds of his pants. By the time dinner was over, the nail was long gone, but I'll bet he had an interesting visit to the restroom later.

Not satisfied with that episode, I had another incident a few weeks ago.

Tim and I were at the theater. At one point in the show, the audience rose to its feet to applaud, and when I did so, the tie belt on my pants caught on my bracelet and came undone (and that is why I hate belts!).

Now this would not have been too bad except for the fact that my pants, which were not too close fitting to begin with, slipped a bit when the belt loosened. Add to that the fact that I was also juggling my program, my pashmina and my purse, and, well, let's just say that I looked like I was applying for the contortionist's job with the circus.

Trying to get Tim's attention for a little help was useless since he was exchanging appreciative remarks with the person on the other side of him, and totally oblivious to the fact that I was about to compete with the action on stage with a strip tease in row 7.

As I wiggled and shimmied and grappled with the stupid belt, everyone began to sit back down. Deciding I could use gravity to my advantage, I leaned forward, hitched up my pants and tried to put the seat back down with my bottom as I tied the ribbon.

Just as I was making my bunny ears, and congratulating myself a bit prematurely on my cleverness, the gentleman in front of me sat down...and back... all in one fluid motion. Which put his head right into direct contact with my mouth.

Several problems with that. 1: it hurt, but 2: he was bald and 3: I had recently applied a nice, thick coat of pink, glossy lipstick.

To my horror, as I drew back and began to apologize, I saw the perfect imprint of my lips on the crown of his head. Unable to help myself, I began to giggle as I resumed my seat and could barely keep my eyes on the stage for the rest of the show.

I can only imagine how he had to try and explain to his wife later that evening exactly how he got lipstick on the pillow.