I will admit that I’m the kind of girl who loves a road trip. Something about piling in a car with someone you really like and having the open road and all the possibilities it holds stretched out before you truly delights my heart. I can’t help it.
But I’m certainly not against flying. Even when a TSA agent touches my girl parts, I still don’t mind it at all. In fact, sometimes it’s really the best way for JD and I to move from point A to point B. (Yes. In fact I DO moonlight as Captain Obvious.)
I’ve flown lots of airlines, but I’ll admit I seem to always wind up on Southwest. I’m not sure why. Call it fate. Call it great rates. Call it my inexplicable attraction to standing between posts with numbers on them.
All I know is it’s as though the universe conspires to keep me on Southwest. I’ve only had positive experiences with Southwest, so I have warm and fuzzy feelings about their brand. Maybe if I’d ever been on a SWA flight full of snakes or crying babies or Gerard Depardieu peeing, I might not feel so much like I want to hug the entire SWA team.
Meanwhile Gerard, stay the hells off my airline, m’kay? If I had been on your flight and seen you pee right in the aisle, I don’t care how many air marshalls with marshmallow guns there were to restrain me, I would have gone ten kinds of OCD crazy on your French behind.
Are you SERIOUS with that?
And not for nothing, but whatever airline you WERE on really, and I mean REALLY, needs to set the plane on fire. That’s the only way to be sure there are no residual French pee-pee germs on the thing.
Ew. Just ew.