...and things were going so well.
You know that all too familiar and equally unhealthy attitude about misfortune? The whole, "that only happens to other people...it could never happen to me" thing? Yeah.
Now, I know what you're thinking: "OH! You didn't!
Ditech.com!? Are you serious? You weren't dumb enough to buy into that garbage and drain all the equity out of your home, were you? For shame!"
Actually, no, but don't think the idea of borrowing against the rental property I don't own hadn't
occurred to me. That would be, you know, illegal (but WAY smarter than getting a home equity loan on a property I DID own).
No, really, I was thinking of something else. How many times have I said "What kind of idiot pours a whole cup of steaming hot coffee in his/her own lap?"
Yeah.
So there I am, in my off-white cargo pants, white t-shirt, and flannel button up, sipping my complimentary Diet Coke on the 4.5 hour flight from Charlotte to Phoenix. Then, the flight
attendant comes around with the tray of coffee, and I think, hey, why not? So, I grab some. A few seconds later, she comes back with the trash bag. In my haste to relieve my tray table of the burden of the empty soda can, I very cleverly nudge the coffee over into my own lap.
Ouch.
Fortunately, I was in the back row right near the
lavatory. The flight
attendant got me a can of club soda, and the lady next to me (i was, of course, in the middle) was up and out of her seat considerably faster than I would have expected. I wasn't burned or anything, so that was a plus.
Still, a very appropriate Venture Bros. quote came to mind. As I had poured an entire cup of hot coffee on my crotch area (thank GOD for the absorbing power of flannel shirts!) It did, at the time, look like I had "hauled off and
whizzed all over myself." And my pants. And my t-shirt. And my flannel shirt. But, fortunately, not on the seat or my neighbors.
Of course, we were about an hour into the
aforementioned 4.5 hour flight. While this did give me ample opportunity to
douse much of my midsection with club soda and let it dry, it did leave me sitting there a little damp for some time. You know that feeling when you've gone swimming, and your swimsuit isn't quite dry, but you put a t-shirt on anyway, and it gets kind of
uncomfortably damp? Imagine that, only with coffee. Needless to say, I looked and smelled great for the rest of the flight.
There was a time in my life, I should point out, where I would have flown into a rage at my own stupidity, stormed into the bathroom, and probably burst into tears at the shame of it all.
I didn't. In fact, I wasn't all that freaked out by it. I was a
little annoyed, sure, but I went back to my seat and was fine for the rest of the flight.
Of course, the single malt scotch on the rocks, compliments of the house (for "all I'd been through"), didn't hurt. A nutmeg of
consolation, perhaps, but it helped me sleep through about half of the remaining flight, damp pants and all.
Good times.
