I enjoy flying, but every time I do, I think of this song. Mostly because any time is a great time to sing an Indigo Girls song--not because I'm scared. My last plane ride was no exception. Sadly, there were no people on board who knew that song and felt like harmonizing with me, so I just sang it in my head.
We were flying together, a bunch of PTA ladies, returning from Hell, AZ (only in the sense that it was 115 degrees in the shade almost the entire time we were there). The rest of the trip had been nice. Sure, when you get twenty women together for seven days you're going to have some craziness, but mostly we had had an enjoyable time together.
Anyway, we were flying. Going home. Eagerly anticipating being with our estrogen-deprived families again. And then we reached cruising altitude. My dear ADHD friend sitting in front of me (directly over the wing) handed back her cell phone and asked me to take a picture of the pretty clouds. She just wanted clouds, no wing. This seemed a little weird, given a) cell phones don't take great photos and b) you can download a better picture of clouds off the Internet if that's really what you're after; however, I complied, because I am a good friend, and some people apparently don't fly very much and it's understandable that they get overexcited.
A few minutes later, she did it again. New clouds had crossed our path, you see.
And again, a minute later.
And again.
Lumpy* and I exchanged glances.
Lumpy: Okay, next time she does that, I'm taking off my seatbelt, standing up, and you're taking a picture of my butt.
It seemed like a good idea to me. Lack of sleep + week of craziness = impaired judgement and/or reduced maturity levels. So when the camera came back, with the request to "get the fluffy ones," we did just that. Only we didn't take a picture of the clouds. How Lumpy pulled her shirt up and exposed herself for the photo without providing the uptight businessman next to her with a view is beyond me.
I returned the camera.
Screaming ensued.
You had to be there, but I have rarely laughed so hard in my life.
Me: I'm blogging about this.
Lumpy: Good, because I was just thinking about the comments I would make on your blog post about this.
And that, my friends, is what PTA is all about. You should join. You really should.
*Lumpy needed an alias, as she has some politically conservative friends she's trying to impress. She's afraid they might find her on my blog, participating in unsavory activities.
7 comments:
Oh wow. Now I wish that I were a member of the PTA!
If you are a caring adult, you can join, even if your not a P or a T.
Thankfully, I don't have to be caring OR adult, because I'm a P.
BTW, nice job disguising "Lumpy," -- I'm sure the link to her blog won't give it away or anything.
Also, I'm sure she didn't completely expose herself, because that'd be tacky and pornographic.
Also, I don't remember you asking anyone arond you if they wanted to sing. The guy two down from you probably would have LOVED it. He was such a nice man, aside from the fact that he sat on an aisle seat on a totally full plane and then got all bent when I, I mean Lumpy, wanted to sit next to you.
I only know two Indigo Girls songs, but I would have belted them out with you if you would have asked. HOW LONG 'TIL MY SOUL GETS IT RIGHT?
Plus, I think ADHD friend was lying when she said she wanted pictures of the clouds. She really wanted pictures of the invisible gremlin parasailing off of the wing.
Thanks for not telling anyone that Lumpy wears a padded bra with the padding not equally distributed. That'd be REALLY embarassing.
.
Well so much for my blog's standard for morals and decency: "What would Daltongirl think of this?"
Guess anything goes.
Wow. I hope when I decide to join the PTA there are people like you guys there. Sure would spice things up a lot.
th.: I feel simultaneously flattered and chastized.
natgo: I read your mind. I knew you didn't know that song. No one does. And you're welcome.
So I tried to look at my blog late last night, and my Internet Security blocked it. Daltonboy just about wet his pants, he laughed so hard. I tried to explain to him that I have set the thing to time out at 9:30 p.m., and THAT was why I couldn't get on the blog (not because I am now a porn site), but he didn't want to listen--just staggered around laughing hysterically. Some people are just weird.
I just flashed my friend while explaining the story to her. I think I may have a real problem, just walking around showing my underwear to people. I just remembered the whole lycra incident of 2005 (ask Ilene). This has become a pattern. I wonder where I can go to get help?
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