On a recent flight I sat behind a woman who the more I watched the more she emerged as a parody of herself. My attention was drawn to her first by a yelping sound that came from under her seat- a small appetizer of a dog was in a fluffy sequined box. She calls her “Candace”. Say no more.

This large buxom woman with a southern drawl and purple hair piled high was eating a take out salad (“I am on a diet”) washed down with a litre of Pepsi (“please, it’s my only vice”) and a family size bag of Cheesies (“a girl can’t live on salad alone”). She has fake eyelashes, drawn on eyebrows, Lee press on nails and a watch worn  so tight her skin is bulging on either side of it -tight and shiny- like a ham wrapped in string.

At this point my daughter says,” Mom, you are staring”. I can’t help it. This woman is better than the in flight movie.

Her arms are the size of my thighs and the underarm dingle dangle is swaying back and forth as she gestures flamboyantly. I am dying to touch them but I don’t -instead I let them lull me to sleep- with their pendulous swing back and forth almost hypnotizing. If the seating gods had been with me, I would have been right beside her able to ask her everything about her life. Instead all I could find out was through her constant narrative with Candy. “We have had a full day, haven’t we?” “We are still hungry, aren’t we” “We are excited to get home, aren’t we” “We are up in the clouds, aren’t we?”  Yes you are, and who am I to judge.

take a peek at these are the good old days – new post on urbanmoms