My time had come. From a few rows ahead, a fully-flocked red-haired man, handsome in that ginger way, turned around and eyed me. I nervously smiled back. He pointed his finger at the middle seat next to me and mouthed, “Can I sit there?” I mouthed back, “You bet your life you can sit there. Settle in, Strawberry.” No, I’m kidding. I didn’t say that. I just nodded and successfully drooled all the way down to my leather boots. Suddenly I was smitten and didn’t care what size his bladder was.
As he moved in and his bent knees nearly reached his chest, Mr. Strawberry explained that he was afraid to fly and being surrounded on both sides by crying children was not going to ease his dread. I assured him, while we dined on stale nuts and flat soda, that I didn’t have a fear of flying, nor would I cry. And I’d be happy to help with his oxygen mask should there be a problem.
“Good,” he said with a flirty grin, “because on my last flight, coming home from the far-east, the plane was hit by lightning, the engine dropped, and we had to land in North Korea.”
Whoa.
After that showstopper, I decided not to console him any further by suggesting that statistics compiled by the Department of Transportation concluded that airline travel is 29 times safer than driving. It probably wouldn’t have made any difference. Though I may bring it up later. Because Mr. Strawberry and I are going to meet for coffee...
to be continued...
(or check out Frank's version http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NSJxiS9wQ20)
