Whenever
the idea of a family trip comes up, I immediately imagine myself in
first class, being pampered and doted on. There are international
carriers now with entire suites in first class -- not just chairs that
fold into beds and have really snazzy TVs. But actual suites -- as in close the door and enjoy the quiet bliss of being fabulously wealthy.
In
these imaginings, my wife and 2-year-old daughter are somewhere in the
nether-regions of coach -- or "back there somewhere," as I imagine
telling a friendly steward while using the appropriate hand motions
that convey both direction and disinterest. And so you can probably see
why I'm always a little annoyed when my wife awakens me from the
daydream and I settle back into the reality of traveling somewhere very
far away, on a very long flight, while the three of us battle for elbow
room and sanity somewhere back there in the nether-regions of middle
class.
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