You always have that person who immediately powers up their cell phone only to engage in a deeply personal and completely inappropriate conversation. Loudly. I leave the plane wondering if the girl in 23D and her loser boyfriend (inferred through their phone dialogue) will make it.
Today was an exception. It was unusually silent as the plane navigated the gauntlet that is the Atlanta airport.
Good. I won't have to explain to Big E what some random man is talking about or worry that Big E will try to inject himself into the conversation.
The fasten seat belt sign went off as the plane stopped at the gate. Big E popped out of his seat.
I HAVE TO MAKE DIRTS! (translation: the kid needed to poop.)
We all know the potential ending to this story.
I try and stay calm. I feel the heat radiating from my armpits.
CAN'T I CATCH ONE BREAK. JUST ONE. PLEASE!! (I want to shout this out to no one in particular.)
BIG E, YOU CAN GO TO THE BATHROOM WHEN WE GET OFF THE PLANE.
I watch in agony as the plane empties at a pace competitive with my nail polish drying.
I HAVE TO MAKE DIRTS! NOW! I HAVE TO GO!
My fellow passengers begin to panic. I see it in there downtrodden eyes. They refuse to make eye contact with me. As I have a kid that "makes dirt". Whatever the hell that means.
But I have a few things in my favor.
1) My kid is so constipated from existing on a diet made up of cake, cupcake, and black and white cookies, that I'm not sure he has the ability to go.
2) Mrs. Yoy has been around the block one too many times. I've got this kid in a pull up. If it's going to happen, it's going to be discreet, but I'd still like for Big E to use a real life toilet.
I talk Big E through his poop panic and he makes it to the bathroom. Where he doesn't even poop.
Lord, somebody nominate this kid for best actor in a dramatic life.
It's a long walk down this aisle...