*written now to be posted at home where I don't have to pay 5 bucks for internet use
Boredom means I write stuff… which is probably part of the reason I haven’t written in a gosh-darn long time- just haven't been bored enough! Anywho… I am currently in Heathrow Airport, staring at a tv screen waiting for my gate to pop up next to my flight number, and inevitably surrounded by bothersome bloody British-accented wankers… oh BOLLOCKS.
I would first like to discuss the family that I had the pleasure of sharing the otherwise delightful row 4 with on the first leg (Madrid-London) of my trip home. First of all, the family sat down and all seemed fine. They had two perfectly cute daughters… at least that’s the opinion I formulated based solely upon first appearances. Two hours and 20 minutes of hell in the skies later I find myself needing to amend that opinion, as I now believe that they were sent here by Satan himself to infiltrate our earthly society while remaining under the radar with their crafty disguises in the form of matching dresses and curly pigtails. Evil, earth-attacking aliens are of course another option and have not been ruled out.
The father, who I sat next to for the first hour, was perfectly normal. Well, technically he seemed depressed about life and completely lacking the energy to tell his daughters to- and I’m just throwing out an example here- stop screaming bloody murder at each other over their spelling flashcards. He cleeeeeeearly did not know what he was getting into when the opportunity to procreate presented itself. Well, I guess technically it was the woman who presented herself... procreation being the resulting side effect… but that’s just technically.
The father was Spanish, the mother was American… and I have yet to see why this cross-cultural bond was formed and documents signed. The man was clearly weary and worn down by these days of domestic hell. I will bet all 6 euros of my personal savings that he is probably ruing the day he decided to move to the USA to marry the love of his life. Eek. The wife was one of these “Did you call your father? You KNOW it’s your brother’s birthday on Thursday… Now don’t leave anything in the overhead compartment like the LAST time…” and 294848583 other inane questions and comments to which the husband simply sighed and nodded with downcast eyes. Poor tuckered out lil Spaniard.
An hour into the flight, the mother and father switched seats after the full-fledged military operation otherwise known as taking their daughters to the bathroom. Then daughter #2 comes to sit in the formerly unoccupied seat between me and her oh-so-pleasant mother. So then the mother looks at me, and then shaking her head says to her daughter “Look at what a bad, bad girl this girl is… she wrote on her hand... you know how Mommy feels about writing on your hands…” The daughter then looks at my hand and proceeds to raise her head to give me the most disappointed, condescending look a four year old can possibly give. SUE ME people… I need to remember my dang flight numbers!
And FINALLY… the daughters’ names were Ariana and Alexis…. And if I wasn’t so irked by the female parts of the family and saddened by the sole male, I would have laughed out loud instead of politely stifling it. Anywho, hello? Saturday Night Live? Cheerleading skit? The husband has an excuse- perhaps he isn’t as well-versed in late-night American comedy sketch shows. The wife though? EVERYONE knows that skit. “My name is Craig… I give good hugs… we can’t be friends… if you do drugs… Wooo!”
So originally the family was going to be the first of a few things… but turns out they provided enough on their own.
