Divorce! Kids in Executive Class!
No, sorry, not me. My relationship is a-okay.
But me and Canada? Not so much. I'm divorcing Canada because of the outcome of Canadian Idol.
Imagine my surprise when I received a Blackberry from my Canadian Idol Judge friend that said, "Nancy Silverman has left the building."
I was still in Provence. I couldn't do a thing! I had all these thoughts like, "Oh mi god. What if she has left the building because I was in Provence and couldn't text message my 15 votes in for her."
To which I say, "I'm so sorry Nancy. I will never again go away during Canadian Idol. Ever."
Enough of Idol. I will still watch. I will root for Eva and Steffi D. But it won't be the same. Pout.
And while I'm in the role of being a spoiled brat, I'd like to share with you all the experience of my trip back from Provence. Or at least the first leg of it, from Nice to Frankfurt.
It turns out, that while I'm now a mommy myself, and so can empathize with any other parent traveling with small children, I still don't like it.
Sure, now when I see some little kids coming in my direction, I don't give them the evil eye. I do smile. I give that "Oh, aren't kids so precious?" look.
Because kids are cute. Until they are not so cute.
This is what Air Canada did to me. Pout. There I was sitting in aisle four. Well, another mommy and two of her kids, age one and three, were in aisle three. Right in front of me.
In aisle five, right behind me, was this woman's husband and their five year old. First off, what the hell is Air Canada putting an innocent bystander like me (and the poor fellow sitting beside me) in the middle of this mayhem? Pout. Pout.
Why didn't they put the whole family together?
I had kids pulling my hair from behind and kids looking at me in front and dropping their bread over the seat. Ok, for the first five minutes, I was cool with it. Then I really wasn't.
I asked the father if he'd like to change seats with me to be closer to his family and that way they wouldn't have to pass the one year old over my head. (Hint Hint. I can deal with either my hair being pulled from behind or being stared at and thrown bread at from in front, but not both at the same time!)
He very nicely said, "Thank you very much. But it's a short flight. I think we'll be ok here." (Which I think translates into, "Um, this is my free time away from my one and three year olds! I'm going to enjoy it!")
I know a lot of people who travel business class and hate when they see little ones up front.
You know, there are a lot of very good kids out there, who will sit quietly, put on the free socks, and watch the damn video. I figure, if you pay for your seat, it's your seat. Have a toddler in there, have yourself in there. You paid for it. It's all yours.
Depending on my mood, when I travel back and forth from Calgary and Toronto, I'll sometimes book business class and sometimes economy.
Frankly, it's better with a toddler to travel economy because they can lie down on you and you somehow, which I'll admit is quite frankly stupid, feel less guilty when your child acts up.
Business class is always full of people with briefcases giving you the evil eye because, for them, flying is actually time out of the office and a time to enjoy the peace.
And it's hard not to feel bad when you, let's say, are traveling to Maui and you see a couple obviously celebrating their honeymoon and your kid is pulling their hair. I love The Dictator, but, yes, I wouldn't wish for anyone to sit behind her or in front of her, especially after someone paid $15,000 for the flight.
But, if I know the flight is during the time The Dictator will be wide awake anyway, I'll trade in my 5 billion points for business class seats. I have to use them up sometime. And, you know, that little glass of orange juice at the beginning makes it worth it. Not.
Still, I've realized the only thing worse than traveling with The Dictator is being stuck in a row in between a family, with three kids under the age of five.
Which is also why I may have to divorce Air Canada too. Again. Pout. Frankly, my relationship with Air Canada has always been rocky at best. But we always keep getting back together. It's, like, the worst relationship in the world. I swear, if Air Canada were a man, any therapist would say, "Cut your losses. Move on. Don't call him ever again."
And, yet, here I am, debating whether to pick up the phone, to book The Dictator and I tickets to Toronto. Pout.