I threw up on the plane.

Truly, turbulence is not my bag. Naturally, it was the most dainty, discreet hurl in the history of hurls. I would make a stellar bulimic. I’m fairly certain the passenger immediately to my right was never the wiser.

In my defense, it was one of those awful flights, swaying and bouncing the entire 40 minutes from Dulles to Charlottesville. I was sweating, practicing Lamaze breathing and concentrating on NOT throwing up when, seconds before I did, I located the designated receptacle in the pocket on the back of the seat in front of me.

My thoughts ran like this: I hate this. I’m going to die. I hate this. Please let this end. I really should not watch Lost. I hate this. I can make it. Just a few more minutes. I hate this. And then, we landed with a bump that made the lady behind me audibly gasp.

Thankfully, after I deposited my grande nonfat mocha (no whip) and my light ‘n fit yogurt into the approprate bag, I felt a bit better. I carefully folded the bag closed and held it the rest of the rolling, swaying flight.

I deplaned, still clutching the bag and thought, if anyone asked, “What’s in the bag?” I could truthfully say, “My lunch.”

This entry was posted on Sunday, May 21st, 2006 at 8:22 pm and is filed under . You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.