Beds on a Plane

Flying torture chamber/sleeping pod

My husband flies constantly, to somewhere. His job requires it. So naturally he has accrued many frequent flier miles, which means that when we fly to Spain later today we can go in first class. And these days, in first class, they have seats that change into beds for overnight flights. That's supposed to make me feel better--the fact that I can actually stretch out and curl up with a cozy blanket and soft pillow and go to sleep. Sounds good, except for the bed being 30,000 feet in the air and moving at a speed of 600 miles an hour, for too many hours to even think about without sobbing.

I told Mitch that, to me, beds on a plane are as comforting as snakes on a plane. He doesn't get it. In fact, he loves to fly, mostly because he has now achieved Super Flyer Status, or some such thing, on a particular airline. This means he goes through security without a hitch, does not take his shoes off or any such nonsense, boards early, blah, blah, blah. To keep this status he must take 120 flights per year, and he is, to date, at 119 and a half. Thus, he will lose it all if he doesn't take half a flight somewhere between now and December 31. He is grappling with where to go when we get back from Europe on December 24th. That half-flight should be interesting.