st. louis

I am flying on an airplane today - which I hate. To make matters worse, it is one of those teeny-tiny airplanes, where the whole thing is only three seats across - one seat on the left side of the aisle, two on the right - which among other things, does not sound terribly aerodynamic.

The plane is so small they will not even let you choose your seat online - probably because they have to do a weigh in or something - assign our seats based on actual kilograms, so we don't tip-over midflight.

To top it off, I am going to St. Louis, so it is just going to be me and a bunch of old people heading to Branson for the Oakridge Boys reunion or some other wild shindig. This is bad news for several reasons - one: I will be stuck sitting next to a) some old woman who owns seven cats, and has hidden two of them in her overnight bag or b)the Oakridge Boys. Two: If somebody decides to hijack this plane, Obama will have no trouble ordering it shot down in the name of national security. I can hear them in the control room already:
"We have a hijack situation here."
"How many souls on board?"
"Twelve - ten if we don't count the cats. Two pilots, the hijacker, three old women, one old man, two Oakridge boys, and some lady trying to open the emergency exit."
"We've set a tracking missle on you already."
"Sounds good."

The fact is - whatever looser would try to hijack that plane is obviously new at the job, and could probably be scared off by letting the cats loose - but hey, we all need to start somewhere.

Maybe I will luck out and it will be an Osmond bothers reunion. Maybe my flu medicine will just knock me out, and I will be blissfully unaware of my own tragic fate. Maybe I will actually make it back home . . . keep your fingers crossed for me.