BoomerGirl Diary

I'm writing this at 30,000 feet. The Sainted One and I are returning to Seattle from our yearly stay in Palm Springs. It's been a very good year for our business, and we decided to treat ourselves by flying there First Class.

I could wax poetic about the free drinks in glass glasses, about someone asking if they can hang my coat in a closet instead of having it smashed in an overhead bin, about seats so wide that even my ample backside doesn't touch the armrests or touch anyone else's buttock overflowage; but I won't bore you with more details, because I realize as I sit here that this is what I most appreciate:

I can pee anytime I want.

I cannot overstate how important this is to women of a certain age. Is there anything more terrifying than two flight attendants and a half-ton beverage cart between you and a bathroom when you need it? And is there anything that moves slower than that aisle-blocking parade? I don't about you, but I never have a greater urge to pee than when I can't.

But in First Class, there is no cart, and there's a toilet right there, right around the corner from where I'm sitting with my legs splayed out and my free drink at my side. If I stood up, I'd be inside the bathroom and locking the door within five seconds.

I really don't have to go right now, but I think I'm going to anyway, just because I can.