At the Duty Free store in the airport I tried to sample rum. (Alcohol is a great sleep aid.) They had an ice bucket and these adorable cups. As soon as I picked up a cup, a short man ran up to me and said, "Excuse me miss, how old are you?"
"Uh, 21," I said.
"Do you have ID?" He asked. (My glasses.)
"Of course," I huffed. Then I realized I didn't.
I searched everything, looking for my passport. Security found it, luckily, 15 minutes before boarding. I had that religious conversion I've been praying for.
After my terror, I got on the plane and felt the most incredible joy. The idea that this is only the beginning makes me so giddy. When I got on that plane, I got a whole knew life. I feel like the giddy teenager I am. My life is as charmed as it will ever be, so I need to get as much mileage out of it as possible.
Before leaving New York, I ran to Macy's and bought ridiculous patchwork leggings to wear on the plane. Unfortunately, they're too big, so they keep sliding down. I bought a money belt as well ($17!!!) and it doesn't fit either. The strap is 3 feet long, so it hangs outside my shirt or makes a giant lump on my hip. The only place I can put it is in the front of my pants.
British Airways was really nice. The thing that impressed me the most was that everyone had an English accent. Why didn't I expect that? They were all so charming. I spent the first hour of the flight trying to figure out what to drink. Delta has a whole page of optons in SkyTeam magazine. BA did not. I thought about asking if they had some kind of Chardonney, but I didn't-- Glamour said Chardonney was tacky. Instead I got a screwdriver. Talk about tacky. They gave me a little bottle of Smirnoff. As soon as I smell alcohol I feel drunk. Drunk as in tired. It occurred to me that my New-York-time nightcap would make me a serious alcoholic on London time. Then I fell asleep, trying to figure out how many ounces are in 5ml.
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