Pee in a Pod, Or Mini Wine Bottle

Now that I’m in my middle age years, okay late middle age years, I have made some momentous decisions about how to live my life. For one, I no longer wear eye shadow. That’s right. And it’s not just because it makes me look like the sick, rabid raccoon I found lying across my front doorstep, growling and flinging spit at us anytime we opened the door, you know, basically holding us all prisoners unless we went out the back door and even then, we tiptoed. No, it’s because it takes time, and my time is very valuable now. Very. Because I’m using it up. Let’s face it, it is no longer on my side.

So, I’m making a statement. My time is more important than the smoky eye. Of course, I still draw my eyebrows on because otherwise my face is just a blank fleshy circle with lips on the bottom. That takes very little time. Two quick swipes with a MAC pencil. Done.

I even go out to dinner like that now. I walk right into a restaurant with my eye shadowless face just daring people to stare.  “That’s right!  No shadow! But look at all this time I have now to enjoy my special elderberry flower liqueur craft cocktail and tuna poke small plate!” Grabbing life by the you-know-whats.

In the past few months I’ve put myself out there, tried new things because my brain is screaming, “Hurry up! Do it before you break a hip!” I tried surfing, we all know how that went. I did a hike in Italy that was supposed to be doable for the average person, as long as the average person has the genetic makeup of Usain Bolt. But I did it. I’ve even signed up to try a kick boxing class…I mean I’ve had to put that off because tripped on a totally organic non-rawhide dog treat in the middle of the night but I definitely plan on doing it. 

All out of the box and challenging. All things that make me feel alive and brave and in charge. I feel strong. I feel capable. I feel empowered.  

And then I sat in a window seat on a plane to California and everything went to shit.

See, I like the window seat, because it gives me privacy. I can turn my whole body to face the window while I scarf down a three day old ham and cheese sandwich that smells like feet from the Fresh and Fast kiosk. Mainly though, it puts me in charge. I have power to raise or lower the shade at will. I will decide how soon before landing everyone will be allowed to see the scenery. Me. Also, if I decide I feel like looking at cloud formations just as everyone settles in for a nap after the beverage service, so be it. The shade will be lifted. 

This particular flight was a four and a half hour ride to San Diego. I was going out to see my son who recently moved there for a new job and since my trip there in August I am having a very intense love affair with California. I was thrilled to be heading back. I had rented a little Air BB just big enough for one person, with a little patio for writing and just a short walk from the beach.  So independent. So in control. I thought, I will write every morning then take a walk through the California neighborhood looking for famous people. Making friends with interesting women who are doing Tai Chi in their yards and who will invite me in to show me their cool houses where they grow their own tea leaves and make kombucha and stuff. All of us using our time for the important things in life.

When the flight attendant came around (FINALLY) with the beverage cart, I thought you know what? It’s my time now. I’m going to ask for a gingerale AND a white wine. That’s right. I want two drinks. And Cheezits. I’m going to sip a white wine on the plane and enjoy the ride and fuck around with the shade. 

Luck was with me that day. There was no one in the middle seat! The guy in the aisle seat was a millennial wearing an apple watch and ear buds, and as soon as we were cleared he opened up his MacBook and began working on his “project,” which is millennial vernacular for “I can do my social media job from my bed.”

As I was slurping on my wine and ginger ale, he was sipping from one of his two waters, and eating a hummus wrap he pulled from his “tote.” I couldn’t help but notice that he pulled out the middle tray that was not being used and made himself more comfy by placing his waters and wrap and veggie snaps on it. Oh please fine sir, do stretch out. Why deny yourself every inch of breathable space? I love millenials, I gave birth to four of them.  But they don’t get that just because there is an empty space doesn’t mean it’s okay for them to use it. I feel like they think, “I’m entitled to that space because…I was born, so yes, that’s mine. See? I just posted it on instagram.” 

And I tell myself,  so what. You’re not going to use it. You already drank everything and inhaled your Cheezits. Just finish watching Season 11 of RHONYC and maybe fall asleep. Before you know it you will be in the land of the golden people. And everything was going fine, all good and then…it happened. I had to pee. 

I looked over at the millennial, thinking if I make eye contact maybe he would get the message and stand up. But no, he was asleep with his ear buds in, his lap top screen had gone black and he still had a full water and half a wrap perched on the extra tray.

Should I poke him? All I have to do is say, “Excuse me young man, I have to get up.” That’s all. But he is out cold, his little millennial chest rising softly up and down.

Try not to think about it I tell myself but the urge is well…pressing. Ugh! What should I DO? Then I remember I have free messaging! I will check in with my advisor/best friend and get her advice on how to deal with this situation. A lot of the important decisions I make in life are actually made by my committee sort of like Logan Roy on Succession except my committee consists of my sisters my friend and my mother and occasionally I will bring in my acupuncturist for the really tough ones.  

These are actual text messages that were exchanged:

Me. Omg sitting at window have to pee. Guy with computer sleeping on aisle.

Friend. Drink wine and take a nap.

Me. For another hour and nine minutes??

Friend. GO. What are you waiting for? Say, excuse me. It’s easy.

Me.  No I can’t he’s sleeping.

Friend. When you sit in aisle it’s part of the deal

Me. He’s all spread out!

Friend. Now. He’s a pig. TELL HIM

Me. Did you not hear me say he’s asleep?.

Friend. OMG be like HEY MOVE. Tell him you’re old and he needs to be respectful

Me. I may pee into my mini wine bottle.

Friend. Be a man and handle it.

Me. I’m weak I know it. OMG he’s up! He’s GETTING UP! He’s up!!

Friend. Yay.

Me. NO NO He left both trays down with drinks and computer! I’m entombed! I can’t get out!

Friend. I’m getting very agitated. Bye. 

Why could I not ask him to move himself and his millennial paraphanalia? Am I too polite? Am I too weak? Am I embarrassed  because then he will know I’m in the restroom urinating? Am I still in the “Don’t mind me,” mindset that I used in my job at the spa where I tried to be invisible so that I could listen in on hypnotism sessions? Am I just an idiot?

I don’t know the answers to these questions. I don’t know if I am any of these things, but I DO know one thing that I totally am, and that is eyeshadow-less.

So, even though I am still nursing a bladder infection, I totally consider this a victory.

   #moveitmillenial #winning