First, I’d like to thank the kind folks at British Airways for the free First Class upgrade to Tokyo. Know that I had full intentions of removing my pants upon settling into my original confirmed seat. Regardless. Your kind offer of a pair of washed and starched, dark navy blue pajamas was well received and partially utilized.
But your service. It's gotten physical. See, before I settle in for a long winter’s nap, I like to preface said nap with a glass of alcoholic. Or commensurate substitute.
But your boy. So nice. Middle-aged, well-groomed. An obvious veteran of the skies. Not a chick. Gently placed a glass of wine on my table, politely said, “Good Health,” and walked away, his elbow landing a glancing blow across my left brow.
I like the Japanese. They’re funny.
Also, turns out, I have a karaoke problem. And when I karaoke, I do beer. Which is cool, except when a local colleague keeps poking my butt with his finger. He also drink. And wears glasses. Still no reason to keep poking my butt with his finger.
But your service. It's gotten physical. See, before I settle in for a long winter’s nap, I like to preface said nap with a glass of alcoholic. Or commensurate substitute.
But your boy. So nice. Middle-aged, well-groomed. An obvious veteran of the skies. Not a chick. Gently placed a glass of wine on my table, politely said, “Good Health,” and walked away, his elbow landing a glancing blow across my left brow.
I like the Japanese. They’re funny.
Also, turns out, I have a karaoke problem. And when I karaoke, I do beer. Which is cool, except when a local colleague keeps poking my butt with his finger. He also drink. And wears glasses. Still no reason to keep poking my butt with his finger.
