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“Exploding honey bear,” I explained, holding up the object in question.
They resumed their conversation, choosing to ignore my outburst.
Assessing my top, I was rather perturbed to see the amount of honey that was seeping into the fabric. There wasn’t just one spot.Noooo. The condiment had splattered across my entire front looking more like a golden-hued galaxy than anything else.
I was pretty sure my left boob was sporting the Big Dipper.
Grabbing the napkins, I began to delicately dab at the offensive spots, but rather than removing excess honey, the napkins stuck to the heavy hit areas, ripping to shreds as I pulled away.
“Right. Because napkin chunks look so much better,” I muttered, realizing the fate of my shirt. I didn’t see how any amount of laundering could fix this.
Doing the best I could, and with several little bits of cheap dining napkins stuck to me like a teen who cut himself after shaving for the first time, I tried to salvage the drink.
But like the sticky debacle I found myself in currently, the tea was lackluster. The aroma had been the best thing about it, sadly.
Abandoning the mug, I gathered my mess, tossing everything in the bin before I made my way to the restrooms.
Desperately needing to wash my hands (and now the handle on my rolling suitcase), I finished and headed to my gate.
It wasn’t long before the overhead announcement said that we were about to board. I was last to be called, hoping that my coach status wasn’t an indication how the ‘five-star’ hotels were going to be.
Not that I had any room to complain, I reminded myself. Plus, the flight to Portland was only two and a half hours. Thankfully I had the Netflix app and half a season ofNew Girlto rewatch.
By the time I made it to the back of the plane, I found my seat. 17A.
Stowing away my carry on, I pulled out my phone to send a text to E.
Lucy:On the plane. See you at the hotel later?
I waited for a few minutes but never got a response. Deciding to finally accept that she might actually be working, I slid the settings over to airplane mode and pulled out my ear buds.
Slowly, people were still filtering in, churning up the already musty scent of the air that hadn’t made it past the filters.
The flight seemed to be a full one, but the aisle seat to my right was still unoccupied. Could I luck out and have the row to myself?
As soon as the thought entered my mind, a girl with glasses stuffed a backpack under the seat next to mine and sat down.
We did the awkward, unspoken ‘hi’ smile that everyone did on planes. She seemed nice enough, but you could never tell with people until the ice was broken.
Once we were comfortably in the air and the seat belt lights had been turned off, I was ready to get lost in my show. The next episode was when Schmidt wanted a lionfish since he couldn’t be with Cece.Guaranteed laughter.
Right as I was popping my earbud in though, I heard someone say the name Koil.
In the row over, the aisle passenger was speaking with the girl sitting next to me.
“I’ve told you both once, but I’ll say it again,” she articulated, her body turned slightly. “Koil is better than Captain America.”
The dude across from her interjected with, “Really? Please explain how, seeing as Cap is a Super-Soldier.”
“Captain Americaisstrong,” she agreed, “but once Koil harnesses his built-up energy, he’s unstoppable.”
I liked her reasoning. One point for my seat partner, zero for her friend.
Like one of those elusive little ground squirrels you see on a documentary, a head popped over the seat in front of me.
The guy, who looked to be in his forties chimed in. “You know I love ya, Arnold, but I have to side with Jen on this one.” He looked to the guy he addressed as Arnold, where he shrugged his shoulders unapologetically.
Around the aisle in front of my seat partner, Jen, came another interloper. He wore glasses and an Apple watch. “You’re all wrong,” he stated. “I’d say—and not because I’m siding with any of you—that Koil and Cap are actually equally matched.”
