You were in seat 14B on July 4th, American Airlines flight #3150, YYZ to LGA, I was the girl to your left in the window seat. I wanted to tell you that I thought you were quite handsome, but I refrained as I feared I would wind up having to share my candy with you – you had offered me a stick of gum, remember? And not offering you any candy in return was already somewhat ungracious. So anyway, now that my candy is out of jeopardy, wow are you ever handsome!

If our flight was crashing, I’d have been totally open to making out with you, even though I’m much older and kind of married. I understand that you might not be as cool with the prospect at first blush, but think back, I really was the cutest person between rows 13 to 15. You would have had to go pretty far to reach the blonde with the side ponytail, and I think she was travelling with someone. And the man with the crooked smile and shaggy brown hair was even further still! Sure, that petite gorgeous brown haired woman was just a little bit behind us, but she was clearly Orthodox and it was NOT going to happen. I know that looks are a useless way to make determinations about people, but in a plane crash make out situation, I think it’s a safe go-to.

Anyway, as a polite young man I think you would have gone along with it to avoid hurting my feelings, which, by the way, I totally appreciate.

Doris was the only passenger who managed to stay afloat after the horrific ocean crash.

Last year The Princess and I were in Paris during hurricane Irene. By the time we returned a few days had already passed, the refrigerator had already gone rotten, the items in the freezer were already unfrozen though ice cold, and the downed trees in our driveway had already been moved. The power had been out for days and it took a few more days before it returned. The first night was probably the worst because we had been on an airplane for 7 hours, then in a car for 2 and were eagerly awaiting a long shower and a good poop. Instead I spent an hour emptying out the refrigerator and BBQing steaks. Still, not the worst thing to return to. The house had only minor damage, our neighbours moved our outdoor breakables, and one of our friends had hurried over before the storm, presciently moving the cars from their usual parking spot – the trees that came down would have crushed them both had they not been moved. The first dark nights were fun and romantic – candles, banding together, and just when we were getting annoyed with the whole situation the power was back.

Hurricane Sandy was different. We were here to tune in to the ongoing warnings, the Franenstorm! chatter, the panic. We were around to pick up the phone when the city robocalled with an evacuation notice – we’re near but not in the mandatory evacuation area. We were here to consider our distance from the water and be reassured that we weren’t at risk from it, then wander around the house and determine which trees might fall and what part of the house would be endangered. All seemed well, so we filled up the bathtubs (we have well water which requires an electric pump), charged our phones and laptops and back up batteries, brought everything we could indoors and battened down the rest.

Around noon on Monday we went for a walk down the street from us, down being the operative word.

Beautiful stream?

Or flooded road?

Remember, these were taken before the storm officially even touched down.

“Is that a bottle of water? What, have you been living in a cave? You can’t bring that much water onto a plane!”

Moments into the return flight from Paris, I began to worry. I had a middle seat, the Princess to my right, and some guy on my left. The guy on my left had the worst – no, THE WORST breath I can recall ever smelling. It was going to be a 467 minute flight and I couldn’t envision any scenario which would result in his breath improving any. Only a drunken optimist would hope that he might brush his teeth during the flight. I’m a realist, I knew he would probably sleep and have airplane/’morning breath’ on top of his already decayed natural state.

Maybe they would serve mint toothpaste sandwiches for lunch? Do airlines ever do that? Has that ever been on a menu? Anywhere? Maybe one of those molecular gastronomy restaurants?

I swear his breath was so bad, I spent the first half hour of the flight wishing he had severe, medical calibre B.O. Or that we’d have engine trouble and have to turn back.

And frankly, the Princess’ prosciutto and port salut sandwich, and au revoir cigar wasn’t making matters all that much more pleasant on my right. Tolerable, but not a true respite.

This makes me have much greater sympathy for customs/immigration agents. They must deal with so much bad breath everyday, that it’s a wonder that they can be even remotely friendly with anyone ever. And what can they do about it? Insist that everyone brush their teeth after getting off a plane? Wear masks? Use that stuff that forensic scientists rub under their noses when they work with decomposing bodies?

The saving grace? As soon as the flight reached our cruising altitude the flight attendants brought drinks and bags of those weird nacho bbq Chex Mex’ish crunchie things only found on airplanes. They masked his breath completely!