An excerpt from my book (a work in progress)…

Thanks to those enormous noise cancellation headphones every frequent flier now owns, I spend a lot of time standing in the aisle asking passengers what they’d like to drink. Yeah, it’s my job, but keep in mind I’ve asked the question, “Would care for something to drink?” which has been shortened to, “Something to drink?” which has been shortened again to just “Drink!” at least 960 times in the last three days.

“Wha,” is the usual response, and that’s a wha without the T.

Now don’t even get me started on the number of times I’ve been ignored, causing me to ask the same person the same freakin question three times in a row. And it doesn’t stop there. Oh no! After I’ve waved a beverage napkin in the air and played a game of charades with a plastic cup until I’m finally able to get my point across, I spend even more time waiting on passengers to decide what, exactly, it is they might like – Coke, diet Coke, Pepsi, diet Pepsi, Sprite, diet Sprite…you get the picture.

Considering I’ve spent the last twenty minutes inching my way towards these people behind a rolling beverage cart, you’d think they’d have some idea of what they’d like to drink. I mean shouldn’t they just…I don’t know…know what they want? If they’re not quite sure what they want, maybe it’s safe to assume they probably don’t really want it. Or even need it? The same
thing can be said for men.

Intelligence, humor, and loyalty – that’s what I’m looking for in a man. That’s not much to ask for and oh, and he definitely has to be a phenomenal kisser. Of course good looks don’t hurt either. But what’s important is that he can cook because I can’t. And that he lives somewhere amazing since I don’t. Not that any of this matters, really, since I’m still single and looking. I’m waiting for Mister Right, but I keep meeting Mister-Never-In-A-Million-Years thanks to another popular men’s magazine publishing an article on the top ten hot jobs to date. Flight attendant ranks number two under nurse. Swear to god. Go look it up if you don’t believe me.

I believe that life is about the choices we make. It may have been my mother’s dream to become a flight attendant, but I ultimately made the decision to snap the blue tie around my neck and venture out in the world from one of three Sunjet International Airline gates in the Delta terminal at the DFW airport. Life is also about taking responsibility for those choices. Even the bad ones. Because what we do, think, and say impacts us in ways we can not even imagine in the future. This is the kind of crap I’ve been telling my friends whenever they ask for my advice on love, life, men, whatever. It’s also the same crap I’ve chosen to live my own life by. Which is why, and I can say this with the utmost certainty, I’ve made all the right choices in my twenty-six years.

Until now.

Enter passenger 22B. I’m on a flight from Los Angeles to New York and somehow, I don’t know how, I missed him during the boarding process, which is totally insane considering just how beautiful he is. Tall and tan, dressed in a dark suit with black wing tip shoes, he’s the kind of guy who makes heads spin like Linda Blair in the Exorcist when he walks through the terminal. So when my coworker and I move the one-hundred-and-fifty pound cart six rows back and I place a napkin on the tray table in front of him, I have no clue I’m just about to look into a pair of the most gorgeous brown eyes with lashes so long they give J-Lo a run for her money. I have no idea how much my life is just about to completely change. But we’ll get to that in a moment. First I have to ask him the question of the day.

“Would you care for something to -” As soon as we lock eyes I can no longer speak. I gulp. For just a split second I forget where I am. Who I am. How I am. Why I am. I just…am…I don’t know, but I am, and I manage to swallow and I think I blink. Twice. Not a word is said between us.

“Hello,” he says and the accent just about kills me. KILLS ME! The two twinkling dimples only make it worse.

“I’m sorry. Let me try that again.” Nervously I laugh and I’m sure I even blush. “Would you care for something to drink?”

He flashes a movie star smile. “Please, Coke Light,” he says, only it sounds more like Co-kah Light, which I find absolutely adorable.

That’s when I do what any other normal single girl in her mid twenties would do, I freeze. Honest to God I just stand there in the aisle wearing navy blue polyester staring down at him like an idiot. Then I do what my mother would do, I nonchalantly check for a ring. Thank god, no wedding band, not even a tan line. It feels like a gift from God. Did I happen to mention he’s the most beautiful specimen of a man I’ve ever seen? Did I also happen to mention he’s so far out of my league it’s not even funny? Trust me, I know my man equivalent and he’s not it.

Quickly I shake myself out of it and smile my first and business class smile. I try to think of something to say, something witty and smart, but with an edge, something that can lead to an interesting conversation, like one about dating. “Co-kah light?” I say and immediately cringe.

He nods, which is my cue to shove the plastic scoop into a drawer of ice. I glance across the cart at my overly Botoxed coworker whose dropped jaw and enormous eyes scream, Gurrrrl…Oh…My…God! Yeah, I already know, and oh my God is right, because my gay competition is now drooling all over his pin striped apron. I shoot him the evil eye and under my breath tell him to step off!