“Well shoo, aren’t you just the cutest little butter muffin ever to titter totter your way into this pigly wiggly life!”
I resisted the urge to cringe, leaning away from the obviously southern and noticeably gay flight attendant who was currently invading my personal space.
To think that this had all happened because my parents decided I couldn’t “live with them forever”. I was nineteen! What? Did they think sending me to Dublin would suddenly make me grow a back bone and force me to move away from my haven of free food, gas support, and cable I didn’t have to pay for? HA! Well think again because I, Eleanor Ackles, was going to prove to them that I wasn’t ready for the real world yet… I guess.
I mean, I know that sounds pretty spineless and yellow bellied – not a word out of you, the regrettably long time I’ve spent warding off Mister Wannabe Dolly Parton is getting me in the country spirit – but what can I say? I just didn’t have a single bone in my body that had the inclination to get out in the real word and meet people. I’d much rather hole up in my room, get out a good book, and blast Hey Jude to my heart’s content until the day I die, but being born into a socialite family with too much money to throw around and not enough understanding of my introvert way of life was mostly ‘nays’ and a very scare amount of ‘yays’ for poor old me.
So here I was, over thirty thousand feet in the air on a plane trip I didn’t want to be on, with an overly flamboyantdrag queen going in for the kill (fingers armed and ready to pinch my ‘heart melting face’), with nothing to do other than add another knot to my neck as I desperately tried to find a good position to sleep.
My arms shot up in defense, waving back and forth in a stranger danger motion as I tried to ward off the flight attendant’s incoming hands; “Wow, wow, slow down there cowboy. Could you by any means back up and give me my own breathing air?” I made something similar to the face a fish out of water would make to emphasize the whole ‘breathing in someone else’s carbon dioxide isn’t my favorite activity’ concept I stood by rather rigorously.
