July 7, 2006

My Mile High Club

Because he was flying on business and I was flying on miles, my husband and I were traveling separately to the east coast and meeting up in Boston. Because he spends most of his life on a plane, my husband can usually manage a first class upgrade. Needless to say, this left me bitter and resentful. He was going to enjoy complimentary champagne, while I was going to not enjoy water infused over cooked chicken glazed with something vaguely teriyaki-like and limp green beans. Ever the opportunist, I determined that there was nothing I could do about my seat, but there was something I could do about my dinner.

While my fellow economy class travelers were busying themselves with overcooked mushy spaghetti topped with a sauce made of processed cheese food and a individually wrapped oatmeal cookie that had been baked fourth months ago, I whipped out my picnic of pate de foie gras, creamy havarti, sliced apples, grapes, and beautiful stone ground whole wheat crackers. I bought my own damn champagne.