Sigh.
Truth be told, I miss the glamour. I miss the clean white sheets, the room service, the champagne. I miss the clicking of sexy high heels through the airport and being whisked off in cars with tinted windows. Oh, hang on a minute...I'm being interrupted by another memory:
-Excuse me, Miss. Where is my vegetarian meal?
-Um, well...you see, your name is not on this list. Chicken or beef?
-But I'm a vegetarian. I booked this flight six years ago through my travel agent.
-I'm sorry. How about another stale bun? A stiff drink perhaps?
-I hate your [DELETED] airline.
-I'll be sure to pass along your comments.
-Oh, just [DELETED] right off. And tell Robert Milton he can [DELETED] my [DELETED].
But I would do 12 Montreal rapidairs in a row just to hang out with my girls and wear a pillbox hat and pumps. Have a dirty one on me, ladies. (martini, that is)
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