Boy was I bitchtastic yesterday! There is a reason sleep-deprivation and noise are methods of torture. Throw rain and five days straight of wildly chatty kids + no babysitters into the mix, and I was ready to commit myself. I went to bed at 8:30 last night, stayed in bed until 8:30 this morning and feel loads better. Good thing too because we are having long-lost friends over for dinner tonight, and I have really been looking forward to it.
On tap are: a cheese and olive board; a leek confit and Bûcheron tart; the farro salad with beets, candied pecans, feta and chive-sage oil dressing; and a pumpkin cheesecake. It's a vegetarian feast of epic proportion- y'all should have seen T's face when I informed him of this fact. I nearly snorted, so hysterical was my response. I couldn't help it. T was an Atkins disciple before he knew what that was.
Because I'm No-nonsense Dawg today, it is time to tell you about two folks who really stood out last week during my regular plane-mate observations. You know I simply adore studying those who are flying with me, a small yet fascinating cross-section of the world at a specific point in time.
I spent the entirety of my flight from DC to Dallas snoozing and half the leg from Dallas to Santa Fe gabbing non-stop with Lili, the Louisiana gal in my writing group. The ground we covered in 45 minutes was truly remarkable. In fact, once in NM with Laura, all Lili and I had shared became evident on a regular basis, and I dare say Laura was repeatedly stunned by the degree and depth. It just served to remind me that if you put two Southerners together in a somewhat-enclosed space, they will know everything about each other seemingly moments later. This fact always knocks the pants of Tom too: "HOW!? did you find all that out in three minutes? And why?"
All of that is a long way to say that I have zero observations from others until my return flights five days later.
Lili and I were on the same plane back to Dallas, and as it was delayed, we had ample time to study our flightmates. Only one really stood out, and this was for many, many reasons.
1. He was "smoking" an unlit cigar like he was some sort of high Prince of Land Puffery. Who does this in an airport? Why?
2. He wore a blazer (nice) with a popped collar sticking up rakishly but in an all-too-purposeful manner. Like, you know he spent a good ten in front of the mirror styling that puppy just so.
3. His glasses, quite possibly prescription-less, were clear red plastic. Chic if they were the only accessory but the cigar and collar in concert with said spectacles made the sum garishly less than its parts.
4. The pièce de résistance, though, were his shoes: black velvet smoking slippers monogrammed in gold. When I first glanced, I could only see one foot and saw SN written in shimmering thread. "Hmm, is his name Sam? That is such a nice name." Just moments later, when I spied the other shoe, I knew I had been sorely mistaken in considering the letters initials: the second shoe was emblazoned with OB.
SNOB, peeps. And not for him to read, but for all of us.
Once on the plane, Lili and I found we didn't have seats next to each other. We asked a sweet woman if she'd be willing to switch, but she said, "No, I've been here since 5am, and my first flight was canceled, and I don't want to sit in the rear of the plane." I understood completely. So, we wished her well and moved back. Not ten minutes later, she moved back to the seat in front of mine.Why? Because SNOB had the seat next to her original one and had subjected her to such pompous pontification in just fifteen minutes that she knew she couldn't stomach the whole ride.
She turned back towards us, smiled with exasperation and disbelief, and said, "Did you see his shoes?"