Long Flights

You know why I hate long flights?

It's because you didn't think and took your water pill before you boarded, then you always end up in the middle seat between a Samoyian and a Marine who loves to sleep, and you're crunched in there, trying to pretend that the smell that hangs over you is not from the hiney of the Samoyian, holding in your own intestinal demands while you eat peanuts that only add fuel to the fire, and then your seat belt gets tight because of all the pent up gas and then the pill kicks in, so you now have to wedge yourself out of that cubbie hole of a seat, and head for the bathroom where there's a line and people stare at you because there is nothing else to do, and you go in, where the water is a funky blue and finally get to have gas (because that's the only safe place to do that because you're a girl and you're not supposed to have gas - ever - it's a rule) and the sounds of it finally being able to escape after the wait is so loud that you're afraid it will override the sounds of the engine and so when you come out you are met with the snickers from the men and the careful averting of the gaze from the women.

So you head back to where they're offering juice or water and other compontents that aid you on the next trip to Flatulence Villa.