Sky Mall strikes again

Airlines often seat me next to someone interesting when I fly. By "interesting," I mean annoying.

For instance, on our flight to Illinois over Christmas, I was just drifting off to sleep when I felt several urgent pokes on my shoulder. I looked at the owner of the poking finger, who was seated next to me.

"Look!" he said excitedly, pointing to the SkyMall magazine so thoughtfully provided for passengers who are bored enough to look at useless, overpriced items but not bored enough to go to sleep. "This hanger system holds up to 10 pairs of pants, all fanned out! Isn't that great?!"

I nodded politely and made little sounds of assent that could also have been taken for grunts, if the man had been paying close attention. But his gaze was riveted on the picture of the 10-pant hanger system.

I settled back to sleep and was lost in a dream about soft, fluffy clouds when I again felt the urgent poking. I opened one eye.

"Look at this!" the man said again. "This hanger system holds 20 pairs of pants!"

This time I merely nodded and tried, not very successfully, to move a little farther away.

But the pokes came for the third time. I attempted to ignore them, thinking maybe the man would get the idea that I was trying to sleep. Then I felt I was being uncharitable. I wondered if this were one of those situations where the Lord would want me to turn the other shoulder. But I thought that might be awkward given the tiny space we were in, so instead I dutifully opened my eyes.

"This Chair Valet is kinda neat," the man said, although he sounded less enthusiastic than he had about the pant systems. "See, you can hang your suit on the back, and it's got a little drawer underneath."

Giving up my attempts to sleep, I reached for a book of my own. I was halfway through Ch. 1 when the man put away the SkyMall magazine and announced that he was going to try to get some sleep.

I waited until he was looking very settled and peaceful, no doubt dreaming about sitting in his Chair Valet and having 20 pairs of pants at his fingertips, and then I poked him. Several times, on the shoulder.

"What?" he said, annoyed.

"Oh, I'm sorry, honey," I said contritely to my husband. "I just wanted to read you this one paragraph...."