If there’s one thing I pride myself on its my ability to keep to myself when needed. As much as I often want to make comments on things I refrain. For those of you who know how often I make comments you can probably extrapolate how many comments don’t get said.

On the airplane on the way home from some meetings this week I refrained from commenting (for those of you in Texas thinking, “We should have gotten together” but we didn’t, apologies, there just wasn’t time on this super-quick trip). You see I wanted to tell the man who wreaked of alcohol that he should probably drink less so that the smell didn’t pour out of his pores. But then, I came in contact with a family of people from a different part of the world. The entire family sat around my seat in various other seats in a U shape. And they emitted the smell of Jr. High. That is to say that in Jr. High most boys don’t bathe as often as they should. Only this was an entire family of stinkiness. An entire family of people who really should have just rented their own private plane to stink up. The upside is that the alcohol smell actually went away. The downside was the three girls sitting in front of me and the alcky were all too young to be sitting by themselves, but were doing so despite the better judgement of evey other passenger on the plane and the flight attendants. They insisted that wiggling, giggling, jiggling and fiddling with their seats as well as making lots of other noises was a good plan.

Their fathers came up periodically to congregate in the aisleway. Which of course sent the stewardess into 9/11 commando mode and she had to scurry them off to their seats. I’m not worried about devout Hindus [as was evident by their garb and makeup between the eyes], who won’t eat animals, let alone kill them taking a plane down, but it could be the perfect smoke screen for some guy to go and try to open the door.