The Beachlorette

CH 4: We're gonna need a bigger boat

CRACCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKK!!! Something snapped in the back of the plane, followed by a series of sharp pops. I surveyed the perfect line-up of women around me. All of their breasts were still inflated, so it had to be the plane.

A wave of water washed in from the back, soaking my ankles, and again the screaming began.

"Get out, get off the plane!!" I lunged forward, blocked by the women surging in front of me, who were lunging- and ARE YOU KIDDING ME, THEY WERE STILL TRYING TO SAVE THEIR LUGGAGE! This called for desperate measures. I vaulted over the seats, crawling over the tiny space between the headrest and ceiling, reaching the door and pushing three girls out onto the wing, which was beginning to dip precariously. There were only a few girls behind me, but already the wing was crowded. I saw the box that contained the raft, still not inflated, and tried not to roll my eyes. No wonder China was overtaking America, if we were any less productive we'd be dead. The raft was in some sort of plastic bag with red letters saying Pull Here, and then CAUTION, Stand Back When Pulled. I pushed it to the center of the wing, and pulled with all the strength in my small body. A sudden whooshing noise threw me backwards, followed by screams as girls were flung left and right into the water. I kicked the raft into the water, pleaseD to have killed two birds with one stone, and both cleared the wing and readied our escape. But it was too little too late, as with a groan, the plane began to tilt sideways.

I pulled the other three women from the plane, and pushed them into the water. I heard the women in the water scream and looked to see the luggage, piled precariously high on the tip off the wing, fall into the ocean, creating a tidal wave of a splash before sinking to the depths. I was now the last one on the plane, and I didn't want on it another second. I sprinted to the edge, put my hands over my head and dove into the clear ocean blue.

When I managed to make it to one of the two orange rafts and pull myself aboard, Brittany and Tiffany sat crying in the corner, hugging each other in mourning. Alas, the matching Prada bags had not survived.

Other women cried over the tragic loss of the luggage. The tall, dreamy looking man who had spoken earlier of the plane was also in our boat. His name turned out to be Gaston. I kid you not. (And if you are imagining the Beauty and the Beast Gaston, just cut of the ponytail and you're basically there.) His methods were less than adept at calming the hysterical women, though too be fair, Peek-a-Boo does tend to work on hysterical children.

 The other man, who I noticed had perfect hair and a wardrobe better than most of the girls, actually seemed to be helping. He was speaking softly and kindly to several of the most hysterical girls, complimenting them on their hair and clothes until they brightened enough to launch a detailed analysis of how and where they had bought them.

Meanwhile I sat in the raft, exhausted, soaking wet, and feeling quite sorry for myself. And yes, dear reader, I thought that nefarious thought, tempting fate most dearly. At least things can't get any worse.

Because swimming straight towards us was four gray fins.

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