My Across-The-Aisle Future Husband

I’m sitting on a plane. The first thing that happened before the sitting was the boarding, obviously. The guy sitting across the aisle offered to help me put my carry on in the bin overhead, which is basically the nicest thing anyone can ever do for me, as I am short and that is that.

Then I accidentally stuck my fingers in his shirt.

Like seriously. How does that even happen? I’m the one who did it and I don’t even know! But it did. And it was weird. We engaged in some witty but awkward banter, because what the fuck else were we going to do?

Two minutes into our precarious relationship, I overheard (eavesdropped) a message he was leaving someone on his phone. He called her babydoll. I was kind of jealous that there’s someone out there being called babydoll and it isn’t me.

*     *     *

He asked me to get a drink when we land.

I wonder how Babydoll will feel about this.

I think our relationship is progressing quite nicely, though. He seems to understand that while we get along, I have no desire to actually talk to him. This guy really gets me. I can’t wait to see what our future has in store.

Ten minutes down, only four hours and fifty minutes to go!

*     *     *

The NJAB (Nice Jewish Airplane Boy for those of you not on the up and up) across the aisle keeps trying to talk to me.  I thought we had an understanding.  I’m not ready for this type of commitment. I just don’t have the energy, or frankly, the interest, to pretend that I think his jokes are funny.

I can see that he’s reading the news on his laptop. This means two things:

1)       He doesn’t mind dropping $40 for some wi-fi on a 5 hour flight, which means he has money.

  • Or he spends irresponsibly. We are obviously going with the former.

2)       He stays up to date on current events, which means he is a productive member of society.

And possibly

3)       He thinks that I’m creeping on him and is trying to impress me.

Well he’s right and it’s working.

*     *     *

He’s taken his shoes off. He’s wearing Calvin Klein socks. This is a good sign.

*     *     *

I’m starving. I’m so hungry I could eat a horse, which, if you know me, you know is a big fucking deal. I wonder if my across-the-aisle future husband would offer to buy me something if I casually mentioned my alarming starvation levels. It seems only right.

God he speaks quietly. Doesn’t he realize how loud these motors are? Motors, engines, whatever. That enormous roaring noise that tends to happen when planes fly. Doesn’t he know how bad my hearing is? I suppose in this case I’m being a tad unreasonable. The only true way to remedy this situation would be for me to get hearing aids, which, considering my tender age of 24, is far too tragic to even consider.

*     *     *


Embraced my independence and bought my own sandwich.

And four cookies.

If this chick in the window seat tries to get up for the bathroom while I’m eating, I. Will. Cut. Her.

How long have we been flying? The clock says it’s around 3pm.  Is that West Coast time or where we’re currently at?  It feels like we’ve been flying for longer than that.  Or is it shorter?  I’m so confused.  Maybe time has stopped completely.

I would kill myself.

My sandwich is good.

I’m feeling distant from my across-the-aisle future husband.  We haven’t spoken in a while.  I miss rebuffing his attempts to be friendly.  I should say something to him.  A relationship does require effort from both participants, after all.


Jesus Christ, getting to the bathroom is basically Battle Royale 37,000 feet in the fucking sky.


*     *     *

I miss my across-the-aisle future husband. I can see him watching Orange Is the New Black on his tablet. He’s everything I’ve ever wanted





*     *     *

We spoke again.  In a desperate attempt to win me back he revealed a dark secret: he likes Star Trek: Voyager.  In a moment of generosity I countered with Doctor Who.  He seemed neither surprised nor enthusiastic.  Not even judgmental.  Or confused.  In fact, he acted like this was normal.

I am not normal and do not appreciate being viewed as such.

What a dick.

He did impress me with his apathetic sarcasm regarding Netflix, though.  The way his dead eyes just stared into mine, his tone not changing a decibel.

I find myself hoping that time has in fact stopped, if only to spend a few more precious moments together.


I see

a slight indent in his hair

where his yarmulke

usually sits.


Oh my god, Babydoll is his wife.  She watches Netflix with him.  What a whore.

I know it’s really for the best, as it was getting difficult to pretend that I found him funny.

Or interesting.


He did tell me how long we had left on the flight, which was a relief, as the suspense has clearly been driving me insane. I didn’t even have to ask.  He knows me so well.

I’ll miss that.

*     *     *

I’ve spent the remaining hour and a half fairly nauseated. Was it from our imminent parting of the ways, knowing we can never be together, or from the gradual descent of the plane?  In times like these, who can tell?

We’ve landed. He helped me with my carry on again. It’s as if we’ve come full circle. It was an apology and a thank you all in one.

We parted without a word.



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