Once at cruising altitude, I hoisted my masses up and hurried into the bathroom that could barely contain me. My dreams of Jeanette spurred primal desires that necessitated some quick but specific actions. To escalate my despicable yet welcome activities I applied some cheap airline hand sanitizer to my palm. Certainly, no friend of the Lubriderm family – this poor excuse for lubricant was just sufficient enough to expedite my carnal explorations with sweet Jeanette, and I was quickly relieved of my demonic seeds. Unfortunately, a brief turbulent bobble while fitfully entombed within this compact and pathetic private space – I was less than surgical with my expulsion and managed to deposit a small dose on my dress slacks. I desperately tried to wipe the once-small splotch, but my efforts only seemed to expand the boastful stain, and some persistent knocks on the door only aggravated my attempts to subdue this now expanding wetness.

Frustrated, I acknowledged the obvious. I was a joke regardless and, if not the blotch, there would be something else to add amusement to everyone’s pathetic lives. Perhaps they would simply turn away – certainly not an uncommon response to that fat guy barreling down the aisle while jarring every laptop and cracker-filled tray table enroute to his final destination. And basically, that’s what transpired. Even Jeanette paid me no mind. Cool Breeze was still fast asleep, Sponge Bob inflating and detracting with his punctuated sleep breaths, and I elected to join him.

The buzz was wearing off, but I still had a pocketful left. I was momentarily at peace and settled finally into my seat. Life was good. Headphones inserted, I selected my beloved cuts of Gregorian chants. I truly found peace even if I had no fucking clue what they were moaning about. With Chicago behind me and momentarily forgotten,  I was good. Edibles, post-Jeanette relief, music, and about 3 hours of tranquility. However brief, that was just enough, and I embraced my short-lived good fortune.