Let's say you're me. You are booking a round-trip flight on Jet Blue to and from the NYC tri-state area for the first all-girl pajama party getaway you've had since, ever. We're talking serious party! Wine! Beach! No sign of Nick Jr! Dogs and cats living together! You get the idea.
Still, five days away from the family. Flying across country when we hate flying. To New York, no less, where we know, we know in our rational brain planes fly back and forth every day without incident. Yet, 5 years ago, a little something happened to a plane bound from NY to SF. In fact, a very nice guy from the 'hood named Mark Bingham was on board. Anyway. Rational Brain has a grip, but Lizard Brain thinks about it, especially when already feeling guilty already for ditching the kids with dad for hedonistic selfish purposes. Damn you, Lizard Brain.
But--Rational Brain gets a grip in the end and books the flight. I am bound for NY and back in late August. Times and dates: check! Enter credit card number for nice people at JetBlue: check! Pick a nice comfy window seat: checkaroonie. Confirmation! Ms. Polito, you are confirmed both ways: arriving JFK on Thursday, returning Tuesday to OAK on...wait for it...
FLIGHT 93
Are you fucking kidding me? Hey JetBlue, been to the movies lately? Watched the news since 9/11/2001? Believe even the tiniest bit in superstition? I mean, I believe the only the tiniest bit in superstition and more than a tiny bit in karma and out of the infinite bazillions of numbers you can assign to a cross-country flight originating in NY, I would not choose, oh, ANY ONE BUT THAT ONE. Please to be changing that number.
It's a sign. I'm a delinquent mom. But in August, I'll be a delinquent mom with a tan and a new outfit from Barney's.
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