Bettie and her entourage get off to a less than flying start
as they head to the Dominican Republic for the first leg of their whirlwind
trip
Y’know, diary, after sitting on another plane for untold
hours waiting to get airborne, terrorism is definitely on my list of things to
do today. But – always look on the bright side – I’m not suffering here alone.
That’s because the final herd of friends, family, servants, hangers-on and
loonies includes myself, Big Frank, my stepmother, the USS Invincible, her live-in therapist, Dr. Helmut Dinkelïcker, his
insufferable wife, Helga, my maid, Mona, my success coach, Jerinda Rawls
Kingston-Royce, and 39-4-Ever’s entire customer support team – who are owed so
much cold hard cash, the plan is to lure them into the woods later on and leave
them there.
Not really sure about this morning’s holdup, but after
listening to Big Frank achieve his Ph.D. in Being A Complete And Utter Nuisance
as he taps, sings along to Air Las Américas welcome music, sniffs, snorts,
blows air from one nostril while holding down the other, stamps his feet,
shuffles, whacks down his seat into the laps of the passengers behind him,
pokes the people up front through their seat backs, coughs, sneezes and a whole
catalogue of other annoying habits, I’m about ready to hijack the plane and fly
it myself.
Then, as we finally taxi down the runway, some hag in 25C
decides it’s time in her life for a series of violent spasms and drops dead.
So, it’s all back to the departure lounge…
No, wait. She’s alive! They’ve found a slight pulse… It’s her
digital watch… No, it’s a pulse! The paramedics have arrived and are trying to
bring her around… Ah, Dinkelïcker’s announced he’s a doctor… He’s scrubbing up.
They’ve started open heart surgery… It’s an international incident… They think
they’ll be able to save one of her legs… She’s down! She’s up! Now, she’s down…
They’re carrying her out on a slab… The crew are all holding a candlelight
vigil. The captain’s crying. It’s very moving. And now that the police,
ambulance and fire crews are all gone, for security reasons we can’t leave with
the old trout’s bags in the hold… so it’s hang around a while longer as they
sort through two-thousand pieces of luggage.
Finally, we arrived at Santa Domingo International, and,
ditched the groupies as Big Frank and I sped off to the convention shack.
Already horrendously late, I hardly sped up proceedings. As, after reading the
show byline of ‘Where you’ll find everything you want, and more!’, I wanted that in writing.
Another month. Another continent. Another conference. They
do blur after a while.
An hour later, as Hubby #3 mixed and mingled, I was bored
out of my bouffanted little mind. Still, I wouldn’t say the cross border debate
was heated, but I ended up holding the coats for the delegates who went outside
to finish their ‘discussions’. Still, at least I made a mint betting on the
outcome. Big Frank was so proud.
Later at the evening function I kinda drew the short straw
in the seating plan lottery as I got stuck next to this dumpy fella who said
he’s someone big on the small screen. Has web craps apparently, though I
hastily declined from going to his laptop to view them. No sign of my blond
paramour, but I did see one of the top software execs parading about his new
beloved. I think she’s what you’d call a trophy wife, but I’m just judging that
by the shape of her head. Though on the whole, it wasn’t her head everyone was
looking at and I couldn’t help thinking, “Boy, do I have to get me some of
those!”
Though it’s fair to say we’re all defined by our enemies, in
my opinion, one should never get blasé about one’s knockers…
