On the flight down to Mexico yesterday, after taking an extended drool nap that impressed even the flight attendant, who made it a point to greet me when I awoke with a hearty “You’re a very good sleeper for such a small lady!” (I’ve heard this before, and it’s always code for “You snore like a giant diabetic fat man off his meds!”), I took out my laptop to do some writing.

I began writing the story about how, when I was a kid, my mother kicked me out of the car and made me walk home because I was being a jerk in the backseat (more on that in a future post. Sorry, Mom). In my peripheral vision, I could see the guy sitting next to me repeatedly looking up from his kindle and staring at my computer. Pretty much any time I started typing a new thought, he glanced. Quite frankly, it was annoying, but I decided, in the Christmas spirit, to take it as a sign of flattery that he was clearly enjoying my writing, and not let it bother me. I turned to him and smiled.

Me: “Funny story, huh?”
Man: “Excuse me?”
Me: “The one I’m writing. It happened a long time ago, so I’m a little hazy on the details, but I’m trying to get down everything I remember.”
Man: “Ok, well, every time you start writing, you elbow me.
Me: “Oh.”
Man: “That’s why I’ve been looking over at you.”
Me: “Got it.”
Man: “So please stop.”
Me: “Sorry, I didn’t realize I was doing it.”
Man: “It’s probably because you type with two fingers.”

So the takeaway here is that he loved my writing, but was embarassed that I caught him spying, so he couched his enthusiasm in a bunch of insults.

Also I should learn to type.

And never talk to people.