Dirty clothes and a business-class attitude

When you start measuring your trip in days you haven't changed your underwear, things are getting a little desperate. Let's see, I put these on Monday morning at 6, and it's now Wednesday, at least it is in London. Yep, time for a change. Time for a shower.

For now, I'll settle for ignoring the underwear situation (as I don't have a good solution that is possible to easily carry out in a lavatory), slathering on more deodorant, and dabbing a little lavender oil on my wrists. Sorry fellow passengers. We've arrived too late both nights to book an airport shower. In case you missed it, yes, Alan and I have "slept" in an airport two nights in a row. Mostly, that means that I haven't slept in about 50 hours.

We are on the plane now, Turkish Airlines. The moment I stepped on, I felt the smile of a travel rush creep onto my face. The plane music sounds like the Middle East. The intercom announcements and even little instructions about the life vests are in Turkish. I feel simultaneously in my element and totally disoriented. The plane itself is old and very cramped in terms of legs room (admittedly, I have this problem all the time, but notice when it is particularly close--I literally couldn't sit in a bus in Mexico because the length of my leg bones exceeded the space allotted between seats by several inches). 

I'm not sure how to transition into the next blurb. It's probably something about my self-righteous need for the world to accommodate my femurs, but in any case, the British guy sitting in front of me was really serious in the queue to board. Another guy walked up to the line, I'm not sure from where, and this British guy goes, "are you trying to step in front of me?" His tone was so stern that I first misread the whole thing as sarcasm among friends, but when the response was an equally serious, "No, I was in front of you," I realized that the British guy was not ready to lose his spot in these queue.

British guy: "No, you are mistaken. I was behind this lady." Gestures to me. He definitively ended the interaction with a sharp, "I think you had better move behind me." 

I figured the British guy would be at least a business class passenger, given his suit and his demeanor, but no. Just in the seat in front of me, regular dude. I can forgive the stern interaction with a line-cutter, but he better not try to recline his seat, or I'll have to tell him HE is mistaken.

Or maybe I'll just raise my arms and let my ripened armpits do the talking.

Let's get to Turkey already.