- Ray: What's wrong, mom?
- Dorothy: First class is what's wrong. It used to be a better meal. Now it's a better life.
-- Jerry Maguire
Earlier this month, I flew back to Minnesota for a funeral. What used to be a love of travel mysteriously turned phobic - fear of flying, fear of leaving my family, fear of driving to the airport. How would they manage without me? What if she forgot her lunch? What if nobody quizzed her on her spelling words? What if nobody washed his football gear for three whole days? I know. Perhaps I put a little too much importance on myself to think that I am irreplaceable. There have been times when I could think of nothing more relaxing than a few days to myself. But suddenly, faced with that reality, I wanted nothing more than those demanding cries of mommy, mommy, mommy!
I arrived at the airport. My husband used his points to upgrade my seat to first class. He loves me like that. As I took my place at the front of the line, I felt an extra sense of respect from those around me. I found my extra wide chair and stretched my legs out as far as they would go. The rows were so far apart that the tray tables came up from the arm rest. There was too much space between the rows to attach them to the seat in front of me.
I enjoyed my pre-flight beverage and though about Dorothy and Ray. I have to agree.
First Class is SO MUCH BETTER!!
My phobias seem to slip away.
I retrieved my neck roll pillow and closed my eyes, thankful that the giant guy sitting next to me had enough personal space that he didn't have to worry that I would fall asleep on his shoulder, leaving drool marks on his buttoned down shirt. With me fast asleep on the red eye, he could finish watching Cowboys and Aliens on his iPad in peace. And by the way, my eyes really were that red. It was late and I was tired!