Flying First Class: The Ups, the Downs, and the Oversharing
Yesterday, we had a glorious 7 AM flight (because who doesn’t love waking up before the sun to play luggage Tetris?). The airline blessed us with an upgrade to first class—but there was a catch.
Chris and I were separated by a whole five rows. He was living the dream in Row 1, while I was holding down the fort in Row 5—which, in airplane terms, is basically another time zone.
Now, let’s talk breakfast. Row 1 got first dibs on the elite bread selection—biscuits and croissants. By the time the bread cart rolled back to my section? My choices were:
An English muffin (a.k.a. toast’s sad, chewy cousin)
A cinnamon roll (which I suspect had seen better days)
Meanwhile, Chris sat up front, basking in the warm, buttery glow of premium bread choices. I swear I heard him softly whisper, "These biscuits are amazing," just to rub it in.
Also, I owe my seat mate an apology.
At the beginning of the flight, I assured him that I was not the chatty Gerardy. Then I proceeded to tell him:
How my Aunt Fran explained the menstrual cycle after I asked too many questions about a tampon commercial.
How I read her romance novels as a kid and needed answers about what exactly a member was.
So, to the kind stranger in 5B, I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that. But in my defense…you should’ve picked Row 1.
Getting ready to board my First Class flight with this unfortunate Florida hair.