WASHINGTON DC My heart plummeted, as I boarded the redeye to London. That too-good-to-be-true cheap ticket? Smack in the center of five seats. However, one of my companions was a sex researcher, which really softened the sting. Life should always imitate bad punchlines.
To be fair, she wasn't a Kinsey-esque hands-on sexpert. Soft-spoken and wry, the PhD-candidate concentrates on community centers for GLBT teens. Still, we filled the night with enthusiastic chatter about critical theory, until another seatmate complained: "You are the only ones in the row speaking."
Her accent was Germanic. So I had a lively internal struggle -- rebellion and backpacker-bitterness versus common courtesy, which, of course, won. But I didn't hesitate to wake her repeatedly to reach the toilet.
"So sorry," I smiled. "But hydration is important. Blot clots kill more frequently than plane crashes, you know."