Mile High Club

* On the flight, as we all buckled our seat belts, the woman and man in the row in front of me introduced themselves to each other. She was thin and dramatic — in her late forties, maybe, or early fifties — and she held forth, largely uninterrupted, through takeoff, drinks, the meal, and the better part of a movie, about her daughters, her vocal training, Sarah Palin’s relevance, Meryl Streep’s unwillingness to be photographed in shorts, and sundry other, equally scintillating topics.

I tried to sleep but had no luck until suddenly, inexplicably, the theatrical and very nasal voice trailed off. I opened my eyes to confirm that he’d finally throttled her, but no. The two of them were kissing. And soon their hands were shifting rhythmically under blankets.

Thirty or forty-five minutes later, the lovers were deterred by the emergence, from behind the gauzy curtain that separates first class from steerage, of a man who looked a great deal like, but was not, Al Franken. “Remember me?” he said, stalking down the aisle. “I’m your husband.”

Read the rest of Maud’s truelife extraordinary story here.

1 Comment

Filed under Undefined

One response to “Mile High Club

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.