Old Lady

Thingvellir National park at sunrise

My sister and I recently went on a sister trip for a long weekend in Iceland.  (And side note, you should go.  Cause it’s awesome.  No joke.)  We left our partners at home, so The Husband had a lovely four days without me getting on his case to make the bed and do the dishes.

When we came back, we had separate flights, since my sister and I live in different cities.  I got really lucky because the one empty seat on the entire flight was in between my aisle seat and the young man sitting in the window seat of my row.

We rejoiced at our great luck and had some brief chit chatting about our experiences and time in Iceland.  I thought he was overly attentive and friendly, possibly even hitting on me.  I casually slipped into the conversation (more than once), “Oh my husband…”

It wasn’t until we landed back home and he asked me in just such a way if I needed help getting all my bags out of the overhead compartments, that I realized he wasn’t hitting on me, he was being polite to an old lady.


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