Imagine if you will: one country music singer. OK, maybe she’s Bossy and not a country music singer—but maybe she paid to have her head dipped in bleach so she could look exactly like one.
And imagine that this Bossy nee country music singer has just boarded an airplane, and it’s 10 pm, and this Bossy has been out all day scaling the streets of San Francisco with her and her and her daughter—and raise your hand if you’re tired of hearing about how much Bossy loves Mocha Momma. Put your hand down, Mocha Momma.
So. This Bossy with the white hair and the palpitating heart and sore feet, she has come to rest in the red-eye ship back to the East coast. And to improve her chances for sleep, this Bossy has purchased a neck pillow even though she suggested to Bossy in the airport bar that airline pillows aren’t nearly as effective as falling face first into a tall beer.
But back to Bossy, who was perfectly situated in her aircraft seat when guess who arrives to be her seatmate? Exactly. Kramer.
So right there in her plane seat, Bossy texts her new friend to tell him that she is sitting next to Kramer and she would take a photo to prove it, and that’s when the ship lifts into the air toward the East coast:
Bossy situates her new pillow, and she tosses and turns and tosses some more. And then she steals another glance at Kramer:
Bossy decides her seatmate isn’t quite as Kramer-ish when he is asking the attendant for water. Because he doesn’t just want water, he wants to make sure that the water will be served room temperature and delivered without ice.
Which is when it hits Bossy that her seatmate isn’t Kramer, her seatmate is Anthony Bordain.
And then Bossy begins to fall a little in love with her seatmate, and the intent of her seatmate’s jaw and the arc of his furrowed brow. And so Bossy and her seatmate marry while the rest of the plane falls into troubled sleeps:
Bossy loves everything about her new husband, even though she doesn’t know anything about her new husband. In fact Bossy hasn’t really interacted with her new husband except to pass him a folded airline blanket. But he embraced that folded airline blanket and arranged it right there on the lap of his stonewashed Lee jeans while he… wait. New husband? Are you going to sleep all flight, new husband?
No matter. Bossy is an independent style wife, so she busied herself by counting the number of times her new husband’s head fell slack to his polyester windbreaker, and she busied herself by watching the sun trip over the horizon.
And then Bossy’s husband went to the restroom, which is when Bossy noticed that his orthopedic sneakers were worn thin as dimes toward the outer edge of his soles, and Bossy can’t have sex with a man who chronically rolls his feet along the outer edge. And so Bossy and her plane husband got a divorce.
And Bossy still didn’t sleep one wink. The end.
More BlogHer conference details forthcoming. As soon as Bossy gets more than thirty seconds of sleep.