Let’s talk about flying business class. Let’s talk about how I don’t think I can go back to regular ol’ flying. Seriously, that’s the closest I’ve been to being treated like a princess. I’m going to start comparing my relationships with men to my relationship with my flight provider. Oh Delta: you know how to treat a woman.
[Let me just take this second to thank profusely my gorgeous, talented, intelligent cousin, Ria, whose early mornings and laborious job resulted in my seven hours of heaven.]
So I get on the plane, am seated in a luxurious reclining chair, don my fuzzy flight booties, and am immediately offered orange juice and champagne (which I decline because I was only going to have one glass of red wine to help me sleep). Yes, well – the best laid plans of mice and men…. After some heated nuts and a five-course meal, I had to ask the stewardess to stop refilling my glass of Cabernet Sauvignon, but thank you very much, to which she responded, “Would you like a glass of Port?”
All-in-all, the flight was divine – every luxury was available to me: magazines, newspapers, blankets, endless pillows, in-flight movie headsets (to go with my personal movie screen). Seriously folks, next I was expecting them to walk down the aisle with a cart of Puerto Rican masseuses. I did not want the flight to end.
But end it did and it ended in
Tune in next time for Lindsey’s Adventures in
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