“Would Madame like some water?”
The flight attendant, who with each Lilipudian-sized bottle of gin reminded me of more and more of Aunt Clara, was looking directly at me. I pulled out my earbud.
I’m not especially hung up on gender honourifics, but calling a guy “madame” was a bit of a surprise outside of the gayest of cocktail parties.
Aunt Clara nodded towards my dozing neighbour, clearing up an empty mini-bottle of Chardonnay. “Will Madame want some water when she wakes up?”
Having no idea who 2D was, let alone her predilection for hydration, I pulled the international “haven’t a clue” face.
“Oh,” Clara twittered. “You both have the same eyeglasses, so I just thought … .”
Glancing over at Snoring Beauty I noticed that, while our frames were completely different, hers were, like mine, a shade of blue. Not unlike Aunt Clara’s eyeshadow.
“My my my,” she said. “How fluky.” She set down a bottle of water, mouthing, “Just in case.”
Motioning to my empty glass, she said, “Shall we call Doctor Bombay once more before landing?”
“Come quick, right away!”
Reaching into her trolley, she pulled out a doorknob. “Oh dear, that’s not right. I’ll be right back.”
2 thoughts on “one hundred two”