EPTWe met on the Thanksgiving redeye heading back into Chicago. I sat in 24D, you sat in 24F. It was an Airbus 320, which means we were near the end of the plane, and I had the aisle seat--you, the window.
The really buff dude in 24C broke off the overhead bin latch above me while putting in his luggage, and it fell directly on my head. You asked if I was alright, and that broke the ice. So while we were idling on the tarmac, waiting for some ground crew guy to come in and duct tape the overhead bin shut, I learned about you, and you learned about me.
You said your name was Lisa. You were probably lying, unless you're completely retarded and/or don't have a facebook account. I don't remember very many other facts about you--just a typical Midwestern undergrad, well on her way to becoming one of those North Shore trixies that comprise Groupon's core customer segment.
You had a killer body, I'll give you that much. Long, straight, bronzed hair; hazel eyes; a slight tan from hiking with your extended family over Thanksgiving. You were probably five eight and about 120 pounds, and you were wearing tights and a miniskirt that showed off the best legs I have ever had the pleasure of sitting two feet away from.
Oh, and the seat in between us, 24E, was empty.
I had work the next morning, so I went to sleep. Somewhere over Arizona you nudged me and asked if you could stretch out on 24E. I said sure. You lifted the armrests and laid down, then I went back to sleep. When I woke up somewhere over Nebraska, I felt a weight pressing into my lap, which I quickly realized was your head. You smelled like one of my exes; a mix of Chanel No. 5 and woman.
I had to get up to use the bathroom, so I ever so gently leaned down and whispered in your ear. You jerked your head into my face and gave me a nosebleed. Then you began stammering out an apology in that cute trixie voice of yours, while trying wipe my nose down with a Kleenex you magically found in your purse. When you were done, you moved to the middle seat, sat next to me, and we spent the rest of the flight watching Glee on your iPad.
The guy in 24C was looking at us as we disembarked, probably wondering how a complete geek like me gets this to happen to him.
To be honest, I didn't know until this morning, when I got a call from the American Express fraud division, asking me to confirm a 1500$ perfume purchase from some Michigan Avenue boutique.
You see, Lisa, when you went through my wallet somewhere over the snowy peaks of Colorado, you took the one credit card that I only got for the massive frequent flyer miles bonus. Being a cheap Asian, I never bought anything with that card, and was planning on cancelling it in another month to get the miles and pay as little membership fees as possible.
I want to thank you since you got AMEX to give me the miles and waive the cancellation fee.
And you're still a leggy brunette.
So how's this for a deal--you meet me again sometime, say at the hair salon that you bought a perm from using my card, I'll pay for dinner with the money I saved from AMEX, and then we head back to your place--not mine, since I have minor trust issues with you and my stuff--and we finish watching the third season of Glee?
