Currently, I am sitting on a 1 hour and 20 minute flight, about 35 minutes in, to Phoenix, Arizona where I will visit with my sisters and four-sevenths of my nieces and nephews for the weekend. Seeing as I actually like my family, I am quite used to air travel, and I have the seat of my choice (Economy Plus, mind you – I am a peasant although I did just get offered the entire can of Diet Coke which was amazing), this should be a pretty low stress flight by all accounts. Except it’s not. I’m actually wildly uncomfortable and kind of want to melt because I am a living, sweating example of all of the things you can possibly do to have a wildly (self-induced) uncomfortable plane travel fail.
Self-Inflicted Reasons Why This Flight Experience is Grossly Subpar
- My favorite shoes, which I always describe as super comfy and “the best travel shoes!” are actually just death hats for my feet. It was 95 degrees when we left Denver, it will be 115 degrees when we get to Phoenix, this plane is uncomfortably warm, and I have no God Damn idea why I decided to wear rubber closed toe shoes. And I tried to subtly take one off just to itch my melting sweat foot and I had to immediately put my foot back in lest my kindly neighbor notice the old-towel-in-gym-bag smell. The worst.
- In an only slightly more idiot move than my shoe choice, I also wore clothes like a dickhead and am sporting a delusional “cool professional Liz” work outfit on the plane that includes … leather shorts. And I no joke had these glamorous illusions this morning when I got dressed of how I’d look at the airport like this cool but also fancy professional business woman. In reality I just look like a woman who wore plastic shoes and pants, in July, on a hot plane. My actual butt is so stuck to the seat that I want to die, it is like legit painful to try and move and my seatbelt which I can’t take off bc of turbulence makes it worse. Along with my butt my bare legs all also over the seat (because my shorts have now ridden up to resemble modestly cut swim bottoms) make fart-ish squeaking noises every time I move. Misery.
- The combination of my plastic clothing items is making me so hot that I can’t down my full can of Diet Coke (srsly the highlight of this trip) fast enough, and resting my feet on the bulkhead, which is usually my favorite activity in my peasant airline caste, brings me no joy. Not only because I am so hot and my feet are slippery but also because I can’t even reposition my feet because of the leather diaper/legs-sticking-to-seat situation. Legiantsigh.
- I am covered in cords because I refuse to buy new cordless headphones and because Apple hates me and is forcing timed obselence on me by making my phone die every 2 hours even though it never did this before I contractually qualified to buy a new phone in return for shackling myself to AT&S my D Seriously for another 2 years. I look like a crazy teen (yes I’m also blogging and taking pictures of my feet in what plane etiquette considers a somewhat rude position, it’s not lost on me) and also the cords are tickling my bare legs. Help.
- My book keeps slipping off of my legs because I am in SHORTS THAT HAVE SLID UP TO MY CROTCH AND WONT GO BACK DOWN And the pages, like the cords, are also tickling me. No words anymore, just shame for myself and my own idiocy.
I have nothing else to add, except for the fact that it’s quite ironic that the photo I have supplied here might make it look like I’m having a care free and sexy fashion flight. I’m not. I want to remove all of my clothing and yell about being enraged. That’s all for now, until I roll on out into the Arizona heat in my breathable cotton outfit and – oh, I mean my plastic shoes and pants. XO!