Ugh, I can’t believe she’s sitting next to me! Why couldn’t she sit one row back, two rocks back, anywhere but here! That baby is going to cry the entire flight… and look at all the things she has with her! Diapers spilling out of the bag and under my seat, toys, books, bottles, wipees, garbage bags, tissues, what doesn’t she have in there? As if that weren’t enough, she has a purse full of her junk, also spilling under my seat. There’s hardly any room for my feet!
This is horrible.
Flight attendants, please prepare for take-off.
I’m not going to look at her. If I acknowledge her she’ll probably ask me for help at some point throughout the flight. I’m simply going to pretend that she’s not here and that her baby doesn’t exist… hard to do considering he’s starting to whimper and squirm all over the place. He’s probably going to start reaching for my hair at some point and she’ll let him because she’s that kind of mom, I just know it. She’ll act like he’s the cutest thing ever and that everyone should let him do whatever he wants because he’s so cute and he’s a baby and doesn’t know any better.
We have reached our cruising altitude of 30,000 feet. The weather ahead looks favorable for a pleasant flight. Flying time should be about 4 hours and 50 minutes. Sit back and enjoy the flight. Flight attendants will be around shortly to offer you a choice of beverage and lunchbox.
What?! 4 hours and 50 minutes! This flight is going to take forever!!! The baby has banged in to me so many times I’ve already lost count and she barely bothered to move him when he accidentally smacked me across the face. Now he’s chewing on my headphone and got his slobber all over my armrest! Agh! What kind of mother is she?! Look at her with her nose buried in a book while I wrestle her snot-nosed, slobber fest of a son.
“Do you have a tissue?” I ask. Awesome, she doesn’t even look up at me and simply points at the mess of bags at her (my!) feet.
Hello ladies, can I offer you something to eat or drink?
“Thanks,” she says. “I’ll just have some water and some peanuts.”
And you, ma’am?
“What kind of sandwiches do you have?” I ask.
Ham and cheese, turkey-swiss or basil-tomato.
“I’ll have basil-tomato.”
Anything to drink?
“Cranberry juice, please.”
It would be nice if she could move the baby out of my way so I can put my tray down and eat in peace. I slightly nudge the baby and he starts wailing. She looks at me as if I just punched the baby in the nose and shifts him over to her lap. Finally! The baby glares at me.
“Are you going to finish that?” she asks pointing at my leftover sandwich. The gall!
“No.” I slide the sandwich aside and she puts it on her tray. Gross. I turn my head away.
“Honey,” she says, “you’ve been acting strange the whole flight. Is everything ok?”
“Yes, Mom. I’m fine.”
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