love is in the air

CONSIDERING THE AMOUNT of travelling I do, I’ve gotta say the odds are not in my favour. In the last year I have flown about 14 times. FOURTEEN TIMES. And you would think the universe or Cupid or whoever it is that is in charge of making people fall in love (I take no responsibility for being single) would see this as a romantic area of opportunity in my life and sit me beside a nice, cute, single boy. But no. Zip. Nil. None. Women. Old men. Married men. Babies. If my past is any indication of my future, I’ll sooner sit beside a 4-legged person then be serendipitously seated beside the world’s most eligible bachelor.

My recent trip to Alt was really playing into my odds. I had connecting flights going both ways so that meant four opportunities (five if you count the flight where I got stuck in a middle seat – bleh) for love to park itself right beside me.

Flight one was a dud. Flight two was a trip between LAX and SLC so naturally I was a batting my eyelashes more vigorously – I mean, it’s L freaking A  – the land of the gorgeous and Gosling. As I set myself up by my window seat, an easy-on-the-eyes boy got closer and closer and then plopped himself down beside me.

Be cool. Be cool. Be cool.

So of course I avoided eye contact.


Before I knew it the small window of time where it’s socially acceptable to bid a little nod of acknowledgment or share a ‘how do you do?’ exchange with your seat partner passed. So instead of spending the next 2 hours falling in love, I sat there silently willing him to wake up and look at me. (And yes, I had already done my research. No ring).

Just as the plane landed and we were gathering our belongings to disembark, I found the icebreaker. An Under-Armor sticker slapped over the logo on his computer. He was either working for the enemy or a die-hard waiting to be converted. Easy target. This was my world.

Now I wish I could tell you that this story is going in the happily-ever-after direction but it’s not so I’ll cut to the chase and spare you the anti-climatic details. We had a great conversation and we walked towards the baggage claim side by side continuing our small talk. He said a little “hang-on” as he dialed a number and started chatting with a coworker arranging his pick-up. As to not seem totally desperate I continued walking assuming he’d follow – didn’t he have to pick up his luggage too? Nope. So I walked right out of his life. And I never even got his name.

The end.

For the record flight 3 was an old man and a young girl and judging by the crowd sitting at the gate, flight 4 isn’t looking promising either. Come on Cupid – throw me a bone would yah?