I wrote two paragraphs of this and somehow my iPad erased it. I don't know howI managed that so I shall try my best to recount what I had written before and still preserve some kind of level of hilarity. First of all, it's hard to type on an iPad without a keyboard. Second, my iPhone is running out of battery, the plane doesn't have any plugs and I want to save it in case of an emergency. But the possibility of an emergency is not what you're here to read about.
I sat a while at the gate and thought about how much I missed my family and also spent some time trying to figure out what the two french guys behind me talked about. I only understood "chien". Pfft. My french is definitely lacking. And then I finally moved to my next seat in the airplane, which would hold my butt for the next 8 and a half hours. And boy did I like my seat!
This morning before the flight, I went a bit psycho about being on time at the airport. 4 hours before the flight to be exact. My thought process was that Germans are a bit psycho themselves about being on time. If Germans get up at ungodly hours to "reserve" a lounge chair poolside in Mallorca by simply placing their towels on top of it, the same rule would apply here.
I got there super early, much to my mom's frustration because she kept reminding me that everything would be alright, but time would tell. And tell it did, for 30 min later, the first group of responsible Germans had arrived to make a line. Good thing I had listened to Mr.J's advice and stood my ground. I beat the Germans at their own game.
It was certainly a pleasant experience to hear the first sounds of adventure in the form of hearing Germans speak. I was quickly reminded how much I missed Germany even despite the fact that Mr.J lives there. I have, without a doubt, fallen in love with a country and its people. I can't even explain.
Back to my wonderful seat, I was sitting there, telling Mr.J that I loved my seat when lo and behold, a baby. Babies are the worst enemies to flying. And quickly he let everybody know who was in charge by starting to whine and fuss about. Woe. Is. Me.
But my ADD soon provided another distraction: the heavy accent of a Puerto Rican lady. I immediately listened in. Much to my mirth, this lady or doña was talking to a nearby english-speaking young man. A much younger man. I laughed, on the inside of course, when she told him that he looked like a movie star (he didn't) and asked him if he was in fact Leonardo DiCaprio. lol.
I dozed off for a bit until the flight attendant woke me up and asked if I wanted a complimentary drink with "wodka". I smiled.