And yes, it’s time for another instalment of “No, I really can’t make this shit up.” I have heard, more than once, that there is speculation that this blog is just a big fat lie. Well, I want you to know, once and for all, that Fancy here is just not that creative. I’m not. What I am is slow and sometimes terribly daft. That is what is true, my friends. And here is some proof.
Fancy found herself on a Cheap Ass Air flight last week. Yes, it’s true. I had to go to a gallery opening in one of those little Eastern European towns where the women all have moustaches. I booked the flight months ago, long before our Fine Fancy Family Holiday. Then I forgot about it. Somewhere in my brain there was a protective mechanism that clicked into place, making me think that my short trip out East involved a flight on Discount Doofus Air, which is no frills but relatively harmless. After all, the universe couldn’t be that cruel, could it.
And then I went to check in. Yes, that’s right. Not Discount Doofus. No. Cheap Ass. My favourite airline.
But Fancy here is nothing if not plucky. And it was just me travelling. So I decided to grin and bear it.
For one final CAA farewell.
My mistake.
I decided this time not to check any bags since I was only going up for a night. Fancy PA, who is the world’s most awesome packer, had my liquids separated out, my travel documents in a handy pocket, my little tiny suitcase exquisitely laid out and organized. And off I went.
With the sleekness of a woman suddenly travelling without two toddlers, I raced through security and on to my gate. But a mere 6 feet from my Priority Boarding line, I was stopped. By a CAA employee. She was randomly pulling people aside to weigh their hand luggage. And I was apparently looking suspiciously overweight.
The limit is 10kg.
My bag weight: 11.2kg.
“What do you want me to do?” I asked that miserable bitch as she instructed me to jettison 1.2kg of Fanciness. “Put on all my clothes?”
“As you wish, Ma’am,” snipped that little tart.
Did I mention that I’m plucky? So I got down on my knees, opened my bag and took my floor length gown out of Fancy PA’s carefully wrapped tissues. And I wrapped it around my neck. Like a scarf. Next I pulled my wrap on, over my jacket. Finally I took my wallet (because we all know that is where the weight is) and tucked it into my underwear.
Standing up, I set my suitcase back on the scale. 9.9kg.
“Thank you,” she sneered.
And I walked the 6 feet to my gate, where I promptly opened my bag and repacked. Throwing in my jacket for good measure.
Assholes.
But I certainly think it makes for a good story, don’t you? Maybe even Frock It quality? I can’t offer you an actual photo of me, oh so Fancy, sashaying down the terminal with an evening gown wrapped around her neck. You’ll have to use your imagination. But this picture might help.
And no, I really didn’t make this up.
