Deep breathing exercises completed, my mind has drifted to its happy place…
A capacious claw foot tub filled with water that’s almost too warm; lavender bubbles dance on the back of my reclined neck. My mind deep in contemplation of the painted ceiling overhead, Michelangelo’s work; I sip champagne, feeling Mozart’s Requiem in D minor permeate my soul—
Then someone knocks me back into reality, literally. A giant backpack hits the back of my head so hard that my headphones dislodge, my glasses are set on a diagonal, and my hair sports a large one sided bump. Startled, my reflexes recoil, and my book… oh how I lament the tragic loss of that book. My feet have located it. I exert a futile attempt to lift the book with my feet, thinking that if I just get it close to my knees I can grab it with my hands.
Unfortunately, my arms and legs are restricted, rendered immobile by three things: the seat back in front of me is reclined, painfully pressing into my knees, and my torso is trapped, wedged by the hibernating beasts who flank me on either side… both of whom are listening to music so loud that I can hear it through their headphones. Perhaps I should have elected to purchase the upgrade to the vacuum packed sardine section.
Why do I never find myself seated next to Colin Firth?
The Daily Post, August 28, Daily Prompt: Middle Seat~ It turns out that your neighbor on the plane/bus/train (or the person sitting at the next table at the coffee shop) is a very, very chatty tourist. Do you try to switch seats, go for a non-committal brief small talk, or make this person your new best friend?<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/middle-seat/”>Middle Seat</a><a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/middle-seat/”>Middle Seat</a>