“You wouldn’t happen to have my fork up there, would you? It seems to have disappeared.”
Across the aisle, a teenage boy snorted. His mother pinched him. Her own mouth was twitching.
“Problem solved.”
I pressed the call button. Kelly took away my tray and asked Brittany to keep her hair on her side.
“Fine! Whatever!”
Kelly left. Brittany turned to her phone.
“Guys, apparently I’m not allowed to have hair on this plane.”
Then she flung it straight back.
“Oops.”
“Oops.”
My replacement lunch arrived.
I ate in peace for exactly two minutes.
I don’t like flying, and I’d ordered a small glass of white wine for my nerves. When the plane shook, I held it with both hands like a chalice.
Then the hair went in.
Not near it. In. The ends swirled in my wine like a paintbrush in a jar.
I ate in peace for exactly two minutes.
