Ah, youth. There’s something about traveling with a pair of twenty-somethings that transported me back to my college days — minus the giggles and the absentmindedness. Oh, wait. . .. I’d met my then-boyfriend, now-husband a week into Freshman year, so maybe I’d better take that back. . ..
But I digress.
After three days of celebrating the wedding of the decade – Yes, Mrs. Enriquez, it’s true! – Cousin, Niece, and I were exhausted and ready to return home. Never mind that Virgin America had the coolest plane any of us had ever been on, so leaving didn’t seem like such a huge burden. Where else could you cruise the internet, choose from a huge selection of streaming movies and TV shows (HGTV, anyone?), listen to an equally large amount and variety of music, order flight attendant service, and message a fellow passenger all from the comfort of your seat? (Umm. . . Yeah. We sat together and messaged each other. Did I mention I was traveling with twenty-somethings?)
And it would’ve been perfect, too, if we hadn’t lost the Naked.
The Naked is a type of juice that costs about $100 at the airport, and which you guard with every breath left in you since a plane purchase would likely be more than $100 – provided it was even available, of course.
So it was with great disappointment when Cousin settled in, reached for the Naked out of her carry-on, and it was nowhere to be found. Having the aisle seat, I was charged with the pleasant activity of scanning the aisle in case it had fallen out as we banged our way through. (Some people shouldn’t wear sandals. Ever. Just sayin’. . ..) Perhaps, we reasoned, it had been kicked off to the side somewhere and was sadly laying there, waiting to be found. (*Insert giggles* Umm. . . the twenty-somethings, remember?) After a few minutes of searching – stopping just short of crawling on my hands and knees – there was no such luck.
The Naked had disappeared.
And so began our dive into the possible ways the Naked could’ve been lost in such a woefully short time and what we should do about it. (*With even MORE giggles*) In the end, we all arrived at the same conclusion. Some other passenger had found the satisfyingly cold Naked and was now pressing it to his lips. And on my Ben Franklin, no less. (Swine!)
Of course, the Naked showed up again. . .. After we landed. Of all the possible places we could’ve looked, it never dawned on us that the Naked might have lodged itself between Cousin’s seat and the side of the plane (serves her right for wanting the window).
My advice: Don’t travel with a Naked. But if you have to, make sure to keep it well within your grasp. And if it disappears, move your butt over. You just might find it there. 🙂