BulgingButtons

Not bad for a fat girl


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So Much for Early Boarding

Tomorrow I get to fly again. As many of you know, flying isn’t my favorite thing, due 99% to my size. It’s awkward, uncomfortable, and downright embarrassing. Yet, I fly several times a year, because time is valuable too. Besides, who really wants to drive cross country a couple of times a year?

So, there’s an airline whose fares are typically lower than others, and it flies pretty much wherever I want to go. It also has a credit card that allows me to earn points toward my flights. For those reasons, I usually use said airline. Well, this particular airline doesn’t assign seats, just boarding groups based on when you check in (you can check in 24 hours in advance of your flight). Travelers, you know who I’m talking about.

Well, the airline came up with a plan to allow folks to get an earlier check in position by paying an extra fee. At first it was $12. Okay, for me it was worth it, especially if I was traveling with a companion. Finding two seats together once the plane starts filling up is tough. Then the fee went up. Now it’s $25 and I still pay it. Why? Because I’m fat.

If I can get on a little sooner, I can be sure to get a seatbelt extender with little drama. No flight attendant will tell me she/he has to track one down and then deliver it to me. Then I can slide into a window seat (where I can squish myself into the corner for the duration of the flight) as unobtrusively as possible. I can also avoid the looks of dread from people who see me coming and think to themselves, “God, I hope she doesn’t sit next to me.”

Well, today it happened. I checked in to my flight, after paying the extra fee, and I’m in the B group. NOOOOO. That means after all the A group and family boarding I will finally get my chance. And I’m in the middle of the B group at that. So much for my $25 buying me some peace of mind. Oh, and in case you were wondering, I checked in exactly twenty-four hours before my flight.

So, wish me luck tomorrow. Hopefully I get a window seat. Hopefully there’s a seatbelt extender readily available (or available at all… perish the thought!). Hopefully I’ll get a seat mate who is skinny and not sick and doesn’t put her bare feet on the seat (that was my last flight…ew) and is just generally kind (and maybe not too talkative). Hopefully we have a smooth flight, otherwise those five hours are going to be torture.

And Airlines, don’t mess with the early check-in stuff. If you don’t have anymore available, don’t sell them. I wish I had my $25 back.

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My Poor Aching Feet

k5286114The other night my dear mother took me out for a night out in honor of my father’s birthday. He passed away more than a decade ago, but we still celebrate his birthday. We ate a delicious dinner, then enjoyed the opera at Symphony Hall. It was a fine, elegant evening.

Here’s the thing, though, my feet are killing me as a result. We parked in a garage near the opera hall and walked two blocks to the restaurant. Two blocks. Not even long blocks. Short blocks. Tiny blocks. Hardly even blocks at all. It was fine. Not a problem. I mean, I didn’t walk quite as quickly as mom, but her heels weren’t quite as high as mine. At least I don’t think they were.

They aren’t really that high, those heels. I would call them a “moderate” heel. They’re a cute pair of peep-toe sling-backs. I’ve worn them on many occasions, and they dress up an outfit beautifully. I hadn’t worn them recently, though. Apparently the last time I wore them I was younger and lighter. Well, younger for sure, I’m not sure about lighter.

I began to realize that they might not have been the best choice as we descended the metal stairs from the fourth level of the parking garage. As I clanged my way down my toes began to feel a little pinched. No big deal, I thought, I can handle this. I was happy to arrive at the restaurant and take my seat. I didn’t give my tootsies another thought until we were on our way back to Symphony Hall. Holy cow, my mom can move for a woman her age. I did my best to keep up. How embarrassing.

We got there early so we milled around the lobby before the doors were opened for seating. Finally we headed inside the theater proper. Our seats were on the aisle, so we kept popping up to allow people to go by. By the time the lights went down I was ready to remove my shoes. I didn’t though, because I knew putting them back on would be worse. The good news is the performance was magnificent, and had my full attention.

Intermission, on the other hand, was miserable.  We hustled off to the ladies room along with every other woman in that theater, and stood in line. Fortunately it moved quickly, because by this point my feet just plain hurt. Normally my mother likes to wander the lobby. She often bumps into an acquaintance or two. These little exchanges make me somewhat uncomfortable under the best of circumstances, but add in achy feet, and I took a pass. I think mom was a bit disappointed, but she joined me back at our seats.

The second act was just as wonderful as the first, and the standing ovation was well deserved, if not comfortable. Then came the walk back to the parking garage and the climb up the metal stairs to the fourth level. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow.

I think I may have to swear off heels for a while, until there is less of me to support on the balls of my feet. My honey doesn’t exactly tower over me, so I usually choose flats anyway these days. Maybe I’ll send those heels packing. They have served their purpose, and they no longer meet my needs. Meanwhile, my poor feet are still aching. Tomorrow I think I’ll wear tennis shoes.