Airplane Etiquette

I landed safely in Houston sometime around 11pm last night. Except for my mad dash to Denver International Airport during rush hour traffic, my trip was relatively uneventful. That is, unless you would have spent an hour or two in my head. Apparently, I have an unspoken set of rules for the person or persons sitting next to me on an airplane....and the guy seated next to me last night was completely unaware that these existed.

Listed among my set of ideal flying conditions is the rule that no one has permission to share my seat, and lifting the arm rest to acquire a little extra wiggle room is completely out of the question. If there is no room for your wiggle, then it might just be time to put down the complementary peanuts and hit the gym.

I am also a firm believer that any child under the age of 14 should travel with a healthy dose of Benadryl. Or a muzzle. Of course, this rule will more than likely change if I ever have children of my own. Until then, I prefer to pass judgement on others and pretend that my offspring will be perfect.

A new rule that I acquired just last night is that anyone with unusual eating habits should not sit next to me. I'll be honest here and tell you that one of my weaknesses is the inability to ignore bizarre restaurant behavior. Apparently, this carries over to airplanes. I had severe eyeball strain by the time we landed in Houston because of my efforts to discretely gawk at my neighbor's savage attack on a tuna sandwich and Fritos. I still haven't fully recovered.

Speaking of landing in Houston, I would like to point out that I'm pretty sure my face melted off about thirty miles north of town as a result of the humidity. I'm still not sure why I continue to pack moisturizer when I come home.

Truth be told, I am thrilled to be here. There is nowhere else in the world I would rather be than home for the holidays!