Once upon a time travel was chic. Airlines were exclusive clubs in the sky where the drinks flowed and one could sit back and enjoy a shitty movie without judgement.
Alas those days (and those cute flight attendant outfits) are long gone. Replacing them: long lines, cramped cabins, and full body pat downs from husky gender ambiguous TSA officials.
Case in point, my return flight to JFK. After an unholy wait at to check in I had a mere 15 minutes to shop duty free with my remaining Francs, which was barely enough time to discern whether YSL's Touche Eclat was really worth buying (coincidentally it is, and had I more time to shop I would be sporting it right now). Then came time to board, but before I could do so I had to endure a full body pat down and glares of judgement when my purse was searched revealing a hefty stash of birth control and Ambien (to aid in my jet leg recovery). Now I'm no expert, but I sincerely doubt that anyone on the flight was planning a terrorist attack, and moreover I think that any plotter worth his salt could easily evade such measures. Then came the flight, where I was mercilessly pushed into a tiny seat next to a washed up actor who wanted to vent about the trials of long distance relationships. When subtle disinterestedness didn't dissuade his diatribes I tried to fake falling asleep, but being the good citizen he was Law & Order extra "woke me up" and treated me to another four hours of middle-aged, pasty drama.
The bottom line: this white girl is done with the hostile skies for now and encourages others to do the same. Now I need to drag my ever-expanding white girl ass to the gym and try to burn off some of that fondue and start the new year off right this time.
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