My name is Fancy. And I’m a recovering Absentee Blogger.
Thank you for your kind words. It’s only now that I realize many of you have actually been sitting by your computer, brows furrowed, palms sweating, wondering if, could it be possible, had Frau Fancy actually been done in by a set of yellow curtains?
No, no I’ll fill you all in on what’s going on there—oh hello neighbours, nice to see you, do you like my bra choice today?-- but first let me tell you about the birthday party we raced off to, a mere 21 hours after returning from a transatlantic flight with toddlers. Because that’s they way my Fancy self lives. Actually, the party can come later. It’s the transportation that I’m focused on. In other words, has H learned his lesson from our summer of Cheap Ass Air?
He called me from work. “I booked your tickets for OldFriend’s birthday party. You arrive at noon and can go right to the hotel.”
“I want to fly up front,” I answered. “Upgrade me. If you didn’t already.” I told him. “You have 1 million miles. Don’t be an ass.”
“One million and five, if we are to be precise,” he countered. “But don’t’ be a princess. It’s only an hour flight.”
“Um, excuse me, 2 hours if you count boarding and deplaning.” Fancy here corrected. “And is there any chance that you’ll be on either my outbound or return flight?” I inquired. Since we all know where he will be sitting. And the secret to a happy Fancy marriage is to never, ever have a couple separated by a curtain on an airplane.
Silence. Dial tone.
You can teach an old dog, it turns out.
And that is why on our return home I was driven across the tarmac to the plane in a limo. “Just try to keep a straight face and tell me how much this sucks for you,” I said, as he struggled in vain to avoid eye contact. I wiped the crumbs from his crème brulee crust off his shirt. “I mean I realize it’s not always fun to spend night after night on a plane. But being escorted through passport control and directly to your jet way, well that is a little cool, ain’t it?”
The man could not look me in the eye.
“And just so you know, these little perks, like waiting in the First Class lounge, drinking fine wines and nibbling on sushi, well, they go a long, long way to forgiving your little indiscretions.”
“What?! What indiscretions,” he cried, smile almost wiped from his smug face.
“Like the fact that you’ve invited your parents to stay all next week and yet you are leaving for a Very Important Meeting tomorrow and won’t be home before they leave. Spending 50,000 miles to make your wife feel attended to, well that goes a long way, dude.”
It’s a major improvement, don’t you agree?