The last hour of a long red-eye flight, attendants came by and asked what I would prefer for breakfast, “sweet or savory”?  Please, airline food in coach? I laughed when I should have smiled. She was not particularly amused with my somewhat snide response.  I chose the fruit and yogurt; sweet, I presume.

A half hour later, I was holding my tray with a barely touched bowl of runny yogurt awaiting its  retrieval  when the lady in front of me suddenly declined her seat  knocking the left-overs out of my hands and into my lap. My last clean outfit, black no less, was dripping with white pasty muck from my chest to my knees. A few choice “” curse words””  emanated out of my mouth.  I quickly became see-sawed between two flight attendants, each hoping the other would help me as this was a BUSY time and people were to stay out of the aisle.  I lucked out with Martha who washed my clothes with me in them.  I smelled like a sick baby and was sticky as well.  However, when I landed in AMS I took a shower and put on yesterday’s dirty clothes with a pretty scarf to hide that fact.