Mile High Club
June 24th, 2009For some reason, I seem to meet a lot of guys at the airport. I have had more dalliances with men traveling across the country than in my own hometown. And every time it happens, I chalk it up to a fluke encounter. But is it? Case in point, yesterday. I had the travel day from hell, nothing was going right, and I was completely frustrated. I must have had a sign on my forehead that said, “Flirt with me” because I had more men talking to me that day than this whole year so far.
First up was The Cowboy. Granted, I was in the South, but I am pretty sure I come off as a city girl upon first glance. The Cowboy started out subtle, standing near me in line, shaking his head in support of my miserable existence with Delta Airlines, and followed me to the bar to commiserate. Then he let loose with probably every one-liner he had ever heard. I nodded politely, sucked down my cocktail, and ran. Something about him made my skin crawl. I knew this guy had a branding iron at home and wasn’t afraid to use it.
Next up was the One-Armed Bandit. I was sitting quietly in the terminal reading and patiently waiting while Delta screwed up yet another of my flights. He sat down next to me and said, “You were on my plane a week ago. You were a few rows in front of me, you had a Bloody Mary and you watched a movie on your laptop.” Holy shit, he was a stalker. As if reading my mind, he said, “No, I’m not a stalker, I just noticed you because I think you’re really beautiful.” Okay, that worked. We chatted for about 15 minutes and I actually kind of liked this guy. I was also very relieved that he wasn’t going to my destination because I didn’t know if I liked him that much. But still, I sized him up (from the side because he was sitting to my right) and “hmm, this could be a possibility” appeared in a thought bubble over my head. The thought bubble then popped.
He stood up to say goodbye and I suddenly noticed that he was missing his right arm. How did I not notice that? And wait, does it make a difference? He asked for my phone number and I immediately blurted out, “Oh, thanks so much, but I have a boyfriend.” Did I really just lie because he was missing an arm? I feel so shallow.
I actually still wonder if I could date a guy missing an arm. I dated a guy missing a ball once because he had testicular cancer. That didn’t really bother me.
Maybe The One-Armed Bandit is the one that got away.
