“The right shoe can change your life…just ask Cinderella.”
That’s what the Bitchy Sign in the airport’s gift shop had said. And no, I didn’t buy the damn thing.
Why not?
Because not all of us go totally Cinderella and marry our own prince.
Okay, yes. My cousin, Zoey Witherspoon, did.
But there are plenty of us who end up with frogs. Frogs that never become princes no matter how many times you kiss ‘em.
Hell, at this point, I might just take another frog. That sure beats my current reality, which is a big nothing, zero, nada, as in no man in sight.
‘Course, now that I’m about to be at the cruising altitude of 35,000 feet, if I saw a man outside my first-class cabin window, he would not be my choice of a dating prospect. Whatever he was doin’ out there couldn’t be good.
Realizing just how far that little sign had sent me over the edge of my barely-there sanity really scared the hell out of me. When would I ever get myself put back together again?
I fought with the coarse blanket I’d retrieved from the overhead compartment. These miniscule scraps of fabric were never big enough to cover my long limbs. Luckily, I’d grown used to the discomforts and irritations of travel and always brought along my own pashmina scarf. I’m a total Linus, desperately in need of my blanky.
While struggling with the blanket and my scarf, I managed to tip over my tote bag, which was way too big to fit nicely underneath the seat in front of me. Out flew one of my old business cards.
I thought I’d tossed out every last one of those bastards months ago.
What the hell?
It must have been hiding in one of the interior pockets.
After retrieving the card, I couldn’t seem to quit staring at the fancy metallic embossed letters. I stared so long my eyes began to water.
“Aldredge & Aldredge” the card read.
Hmph. No need for that second Aldredge now. And yes. That Aldredge was my total nightmare of a frog.
“Excuse me, Mrs. Aldredge, is there anything I can do for you before departure? Perhaps a cocktail?”
Thankfully or unthankfully, depending on how you chose to look at it, my self-pity party was interrupted by the annoyingly kind but canned concern of a flight attendant. The talking mannequin bore a nameplate identifying her as Allison.
Flashes of rage heated my cheeks. Somehow though, I managed to contain my deep desire to strangle the shit out of Allison’s way-too-perky affront.
“That would be Ms. Aldredge. And no thank you.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
Allison, attendant extraordinaire, who looked like she should be on that once hot, now cancelled television show Pan Am – a beehive of an upsweep hairdo included - glanced at her manifest.
What was that about?
Did she think I didn’t know for sure that I was now single?
“Let me know if you change your mind and would like a drink.”
I nodded and buried my head in my hands, trying to shake off the horror.
And yes, sound reasoning to the rescue, I was fully aware that Allison had no way of knowing the significance of her error. But in my book, it was a damn big one. And I wasn’t about to let it slip by without correcting the offending party.
I closed my eyes and settled back into the cushions of my reclined seat. The long hours I’d spent reworking an overdue manuscript had left me drained.
“Ms. Aldredge.” Allison poked me in the arm with her bone-cold pointer finger. “You must put your seat in the upright position for takeoff.”
I swore I heard the bitch place emphasis on the ‘Ms’. But without further comment, I repositioned my seat. I had bigger battles brewing and didn’t need to start a new one with Pan Am Barbie.
The sound of the jet’s engines roaring to life mercifully brought an end to my flight attendant’s honey-tongued torture. Thank the powers that be she had a cabin to prepare and no additional time to mess with me.
I leaned against the window and watched LaGuardia’s runway disappear.
Before the plane could have even been off the air traffic controllers’ radar, I was fast asleep.