Back in the halcyon days of gainful employment, Blonde’s Starwood Amex card was well-traveled and much-exercised. Money rolled in and cascaded out. The points accumulated in Starwood’s rewards program, Blonde was upgraded to Platinum, and life was good. On this trip the points were cashed in for a free week in the penthouse of the Westin Dragonara Resort in Malta.
Before going to Malta Blonde was blithely oblivious to the fact that they are famous for making very intricate blown “Mdina” glass decorative objects. However, it only took a mention in the Westin’s “places to go max out on your credit limit” book for Blonde to develop a major Jones to acquire some of the glassware. So the sister act terrorized pedestrians and unwarned drivers in an enthusiastic rental car trip to the glass blowing village.
The glassblowers gave demonstrations of their techniques. At each shop Blonde fell in love again for the first time, purchasing more and more and larger and larger items. What started as a small ring dish concluded with a massive and weighty glass parrot that weighed as much as Brunette. Each store wrapped the purchases in huge wads of bubble wrap and insisted that they not be placed in checked luggage.
On the day of departure the absurdity of all that needed to be carried on to the plane became painfully apparent. But there wasn’t any alternative that wouldn’t result in a lot of very expensive pulverized glass. As if the giant bubbles of glassware weren’t enough, there was also a set of bathroom shelves Blonde had purchased in Sicily and those too needed to be carried on.
B&B got to the gate for the flight and it was soon clear that Blonde getting on the plane carrying a Volkswagen Beetle sized mound of glass and bubble wrap was a non-starter. The gate agent was a large angry-looking mannish Brunhilda cruisin’ for someone like Blonde to bruise. Somewhere it’s written that in the food chain Brunhildas are the natural predators of Blonde. The dislike is consistent, instant and punishing. But as much as they hate Blonde, they don’t even notice Brunette.
A strategic approach was called for. Brunette, who could carry singing elephants onboard and no one would ever say anything, got in line and carried the bathroom shelving through with no objections. Blonde made one run at Brunhilda, was scorned, lectured and dismissed. She would not be permitted to carry the glass and bubble wrap blob onboard. End of story; to one of the players in that scene.
Blondes know that when confronted with hate-radiating Brunhildas it’s time to find someone with a Y chromosome – stat! Blonde activated her built-in man-GPS and it honed in on a suitable target in the vicinity; a man who appeared to be a crew member and had a slight air of authority. Blonde decided to appeal her case to the target man and then try to draft in his slipstream onto the plane and past Brunhilda.
Luckily Blonde was wearing a low-cut top that was suddenly even lower. Approaching the designated man, Blonde, in a sudden state of girlish fluster, pleaded for his permission to carry the glass and plastic wad onboard. He seemed hesitant so Blonde, in a brilliant bit of improv, said “To you these probably look like things but to me they’re memories. I bought them for my son’s wedding. They aren’t replaceable and I can’t risk getting them broken”. Blonde’s tears flowed . (Perhaps because she knew she was committing tear perjury; she doesn’t have a son or any other reproductive output.) Tears and cleavage worked their magic. They are always a reliable combo-killer
Not only did the man permit Blonde to take the bundle aboard but he helped carry it. As the tear-stained Mother of the Non-existent Groom got on the plane the pilot got involved. He helped poor distressed Blonde by taking the packages and putting them in some kind of special pilot’s cabinet so they would be safe.
Blonde wandered tearfully to her seat. Brunette looked alarmed to see her sister crying and sans the glass and bubble wrap blob. Blonde muttered “the tears are fake, the stuff’s in the pilot’s cabinet, I’ll explain later”. It was a smallish plane taking B&B to Paris for a connecting flight back to the States. We were flying business class from Paris and they’ll let you carry a corpse into business class (Brunette’s husband did once). The critical leg of the glassware’s journey was a triumph of hormones over policy.
By the time of B&B’s arrival in Paris Brunette now had the story. She was both thrilled and appalled by her sister’s behavior. But in either case she felt that this event had to be captured for posterity. She insisted that right there in the hallway where the flight was unloading Blonde stage a reenactment for a photo opportunity. Blonde obliged by holding one of the large wads of glass and making a hugely hammy begging face. She loudly repeated exactly what she’d said and done to dupe the kindly male airline employee and pilot to allow her to carry and store her precious cargo.
As this staged and exceedingly obvious scene was performed in the most public space available, the kindly male employee and the pilot walked directly past. As in could have easily touched them close. Apparently you cannot actually die of mortification. At least blondes can’t. Ok, one blonde.