As promised, here is my short story which I’m sure you’ll agree, bizarrely won a competition. I only came up with the title of it seconds before I read it out.
The Mile High Snub.
What have you written on my back? Was how the argument started. It ended with…
“And I don’t believe you’re an airhostess either, you’re too old. Also, who goes writing ‘I love you’ on the back of a person they hardly know?” Were my last words before slamming the hotel door on a very arsy; in both senses of the word, woman that I had a brief holiday romance with. The same woman who was at this very moment coming down the aisle with the food trolley.
“Would you like something to eat sir?”
“Sure, what are the options?” I asked.
“Yes, or fucking no” She replied.
After devilled eggs salad, which I’m sure she covertly spat on and another beer, I needed the loo. By the time the queue dwindled down to me next. I could hardly stand still and did a jig while through both pockets squeezed my willy half to death. Thinking I had won the day by a whiskers, then frantically trying to free myself, the zip crunched and jammed to a halt. Unfortunately, my brain in its alcohol infused state had already given my bladder the go ahead to release. There was no mistaking what the stain down my leg was. I sat on the toilet to ponder my predicament. I could ask for help from one of the crew. I peeped out of the door. Along with a few people stealthily doing the hold it in dance was the hostess from Grudgeville.
I could just imagine her paraphrasing my plea to get me out of this.
“Ladies and gentlemen. I have been asked by the bastard now currently walking down the aisle back to seat 323A to say that the patch down his leg is not piss but he spilt tango on himself while in the toilet, an unlikely tale. we don’t serve it on board and who drinks in the bog anyway? A load of rubbish, just like his white linen trousers and love making.”
I thought better of it.
I decided to take my shirt off and drape it around my front and cover up best I could. I’d get some curios looks but at least I wouldn’t be known as ‘dribbler man’ for the rest of the flight. Just before leaving the loo, I caught a glimpse of my back from the mirror. In thick heavy marker pen were the words ‘I’m a dick’.