© Copyright Chris and Kerrie Jones 2018 All rights reserved
It was good to be in Brissy for a couple of days but it was also good to be back “home” in the wee van with Kerrie.
The connecting flight from Sydney to Hobart gave me yet another opportunity to see the funny side of people. I was sitting in my seat after boarding contentedly reading a book when in comes the passenger who would occupy the seat across the aisle from me. She was a very pretty woman, about her early 30s and was almost wearing a black dress. It was probably more like a very wide belt than a dress actually. With all sorts of bags and packages, it made for a very amusing few minutes of entertainment watching the antics to try to get seated and organised.
The makeup bag would go one place, the handbag another, then that would be changed and she would get up and go through the whole drama again, each time displaying almost every millimetre of her very shapely body to all the other passengers as if performing on a stage.
After finally getting settled, muttering to herself all the time, her adjoining passenger turned up, a male of similar age. As he was in the window seat we all got another performance from the woman as she got back out of her seat to let the man in and then repeated the entire organisation thing again.
The man on the other side was trying to force his eyes off the black belt the woman was wearing in place of clothing. As she bent over to pick up her bag from the floor the man almost had to catch her boobs as the wide belt simply could not contain them within its tiny confines.
We, the other passengers, on the other hand, got the rear view whilst trying unsuccessfully to appear disinterested. From the moment the woman finally got settled she started.
She hit the man with a non-stop babble that every passenger for five rows forward and back could hear. It was to be a 1 hour and 20-minute non-stop one-way conversation about the most inane and pathetically irrelevant tripe you could imagine. Within the first few seconds of the babble session out came the make-up bag. As the plane took off and levelled out to the strains “Well then I said… and then SHE said… and so I said…”, the woman opened up her rather large makeup kit and removed a tin of crème from which she removed the lid.
She then proceeded to rub the ointment into her long shapely legs. On and on the sensual massaging went. Every millimetre of the leg got the treatment. The legs parted as far as possible in the confines of the seats so that even points so far north that most people would never see unless engaged in the most intimate of moments got treated. During the entire process, the babble continued. Of course, the male next to her was beside himself.
He was trying desperately not to be affected by the whole scenario and trying to politely listen to the babble though obviously not hearing a phrase. On and on the massaging went as the smell of the crème permeated the entire cabin. I caught the expression on the face of a hostess. It was a priceless mix of macabre interest and ill-disguised contempt. The man next to me was stunned. He tried to look out the window but even the most interesting scenery far below was not enough to stop his head from constantly turning to the self-massage next door.
I felt like buying him a drink to stop his tongue from drying out as it hung unconsciously out of his mouth. I turned around and the bloke behind me had eyes wider than a pudding bowl and could not even pretend not to be fully engrossed in the performance. I was sure I saw him miss a few breaths.
The 45-minute massage finally drew to a close allowing every male within range time to recompose. Although the massage had ceased the babble continued and this time out came the eyeliner and hand mirror. The paint job that followed lasted for the entire duration of the rest of the flight without a word of a lie. Every man,(and the hostess), must have been secretly satisfied when we landed as the woman had no coat and the intelligence level obviously had not been sufficient for her to look at the temperature in Hobart. As she disembarked with only that ridiculous wide belt to protect her the 16-degree temperature hit as did the icy wind blowing in straight from Antarctica and the accompanying freezing rain. The 1-hour eyeliner job immediately fell into disrepair in the driving rain and the screams were raised above all other sounds as the icy wind found no resistance at all as it invaded every nook and cranny of the body.
Man people are funny!