This being our third trip from Budapest to San Diego, she actually didn't have as much anxiety as she had on previous trips...even though 8,000 miles is ALWAYS intimidating.
Dad had to book his ticket separately from mom and I...long story. Not a big deal, really. We would manage something.
I figured that whoever sits next to mom would SURELY trade their seat with dad so we can sit as a family!!!
...
Que British a*hole. Ok, I know I have some sensitive readers, but really, this adjective is a massive understatement. (Sorry, great-grandma.)
Dad: "Hi, I'm so sorry to bother you, but would you mind switching seats with me, I'd like to sit next to my baby and help my wife...she's kind of a handful." (The wife, not the baby.)
Brit, with smug British accent: "No. I want extra leg room."
After that, every single passenger refused to exchange seats with dad (because he was giving off a defeated vibe and dropped a few f-bombs), thus leaving mom to experience her worst nightmare, times infinity.
Four hours of crying, a river of snot, hunger strike, a schizophrenic outburst later...it happened.
Dad brought over some orange chocolate mousse from the food service and managed to get me to eat a few small bites. Victory!!!
After a few minutes I began to fuss and, BLEEEAK, I threw up ALL over myself, dad's tactical shirt (which did not help him on this particular mission) and the man's shoes sitting behind us...and the floor of course. E.V.E.R.Y.W.H.E.R.E.
...Except the ONE person on the entire plane that deserved it, the jerky Brit, who STILL wouldn't move after my best performance to date. My situational awareness was a bit thrown off...but if I got another chance...
I can personally attest that the flight attendants on British Airways did not help mom clean this chocolate soufflé explosion (except for throwing a blanket over it), and it will probably marinate in the carpet of this Boeing 777 for all eternity.
(Tip: Don't eat food/throw valued personal belongings on airplane floors.)
So, suddenly, after my blowout, and my BFF's refusal to move, the flight attendants managed to find him a very nice seat in business class! I guess all regulations go out the window when projectile sno-mit comes into play.
And then, 20 minutes later, I barfed on mom.
Needless to say, we are renting a private jet if we EVER travel again, even to LA.
Mom is putting her kidney up for auction on eBay as we speak.
But, at the end of the day, we all survived, and people were generally nice to us...minus a few dirty looks.
But, at the end of the day, we all survived, and people were generally nice to us...minus a few dirty looks.
Update: I cried five out of 11 hours. Mom is going to have Valium for dinner.
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