Mile High Club

My mother always told me that if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all. She also told me that if you don’t have anything nice to wear, stay at home. I went through a phase in college where I wore Juicy sweats and Ugg slippers to the cafeteria, but I kind of consider that to be the equivalent of athleisure today. It’s not as offensive as pajama pants and a tee shirt, but not as pulled together as jeans and an oxford. What can I say, I was in college, there are more than a few things I’d do differently if I could, such as eating pizza and bread-sticks smothered in nacho cheese at 3am, multiple times a week. Oye. Nowadays, I make more of an effort to be pulled together in public, especially when I travel. Of course you want to be comfortable, but it’s important to remember that you see far more people in one day of travel than you do on a Saturday night and you aren’t with your best friends, you’re with total strangers. Look good and you might meet your future husband.

Six short and wild years ago I accepted a job that required me to travel 300+ days per year, which meant I spent quite a bit of time in the air…and on the beach. This was my first taste of being a young professional and because travel was involved, I suddenly felt very mature and well…like a grown and sophisticated lady who found herself on flights surrounded by other business travelers who couldn’t have been less impressed with their first class seats and lunches served on china at 30,000 feet, therefore…nor was I.

“Ms. Rowan, would like you some more warm cashews?”

“No, but I will have another glass of Cabernet, thankyousomuch.”

Unimpressed.

Being such a young lady, I bet everyone wondered what I was doing in first class… “Family money? Married to a notable newscaster? Is she a startup founder? Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Cover model?” ….little did they know I directed people to dinner…in a uniform.

“Another  glass of wine, please.”

I’d always wondered if I would meet my husband while traveling and six years ago I realized that would probably happen to me, and so I started envisioning the encounter that I would have with my future husband (or just an attractive man) on an overnight, international flight, because everything is more romantic over international waters.

Can you imagine? 

5:00pm: Security Line |  Cute. No ring. Cuter.

5:30pm: Boarding Line | Zone One? Hm, impressive….

5:40pm: 2K | In the seat next to me?  There’s no way this is my luck. No way. (Check my boarding pass to ensure I am in the correct seat)

6:20pm: IAD to CDG | Sipping champagne and pretending to read the free Wall Street Journal while acting unimpressed with life in 2K….must be sure to choose the healthiest entree on the menu (really wanted that cheese tortellini).

8:00pm: Main Course | A couple back and forth comments about the meal while politely declining bread (and making sure he hears).

8:45pm: Dessert | More wine. Talking about destination plans upon arrival.

9:30pm: Post Dessert Wine | Laughing and swapping stories about life, careers (not uniforms), and travel.

10:00pm: Post Wine Wine | Discussion about life goals and family.

11:30pm: Post Intimate Talk Wine | Makeout.

International Travel. Love Letters. Engagement in Morocco. Marriage. The End.

But is it even real? Okay, actually it is real. Three months ago I would have said it wasn’t real, but then I met this beautiful girl on Bumble BFF and it happened to her. And her husband is equally beautiful. Like they are both Jessica Alba beautiful and they met on an flight to LA (randomly seated next to one another), and then met up in LA, and then she moved from Canada to the US to be with him, and they married in Costa Rica earlier this year. WHAT?! I’m so more likely to meet my husband in line at Chipotle. My LIFE.

There was one occasion in which I thought I was about to meet my future husband on a flight, but before I go into this story, a little background for you:

I always think I see famous people. Below are my celebrity sightings that may or may not (definitely may not) be legitimate:

Kurt Russel-Nordstrom, St. Louis

Dennis Quaid-PCH, LA to Malibu Stretch (this is real…I am almost sure)

Bill Clinton-Produce Section, Schnucks, St. Louis (I actually completely ducked behind tomatoes, not sure why, really strange reaction)

Eric Clapton-Harry’s Bar, St. Louis

Stockard Channing-Pantheon, Rome (last summer)

Tom Hanks-Paper Source, Denver

Dennis Quaid-United Flight, LGA to DEN

My second Dennis Quaid sighting had me believing we were meant to meet and therefore, probably meant to be. I had spent a weekend in New York with friends and after being out late and then waking up late, I rushed to get myself on my flight, still wearing my makeup from the night before and more than likely, the same clothes. He was in first class, I was in the first economy row behind him. I had  exactly 4 hours and 25 minutes to plot out our conversation that would be struck up once we landed, which would turn to a beer in Terminal B, laughing over my previous “sighting” of him on the PCH, and then he would extend an invitation to Aspen (which I would accept), and would propose while we were trail riding on horseback, and then I’d never work, and be the wife of Dennis Quaid, and he would retire from the big screen, and we would live on an expansive ranch, and enjoy a relaxed and quite life away from the spotlight of Hollywood, on 150 acres outside of Aspen…with chickens and nice cars.

Naturally, my doubts started creeping in since all of my previous celebrity sightings were mocked by my sister and girlfriends, but this was absolutely real because:

A. He was the most handsome man I’d ever seen in real life, with movie star appeal and a rugged masculinity that made him look more like a rancher than an actor. He had leathered, skin that had been kissed by the sun for many, many years and wore tight, fitted blue jeans that probably smelled of horse manure and whiskey, oh Dennis.

And

B. The rest of the airplane was talking about his presence on-board (this is not a joke, there were whispers, a lot).

Once we landed, reached the gate, and all stood up,  he was laughing and talking with other passengers and it was so casual that at any given point I could have jumped in the conversation, but I was so afraid to look at him that I stood there being unimpressed. And then he was gone. And then I was devastated.

Until….I pushed my way off the plane and boldly made my way up to him after exiting the plane….

Me: (with the confidence of Naomi Campbell) “Hi, Dennis….”

Dennis: Confused look, “Dennis?”

Me: “I’m sorry, aren’t you Dennis Quaid?”

Dennis: “WELL, thank YOU, but no, I am not Dennis Quaid.” Chuckle

Me: “Oh…gosh, I’m so sorry, goodbye!”

And he may have been Dennis, but he probably wasn’t, but he could have been, but it didn’t matter because it was over. I made my way as quickly as possible to baggage claim, never looking back.

I realize this is a disappointing end to a story, but that’s what happens when you blow it, girls. You don’t get second chances when it comes to Dennis Quaid or the hottest guy on the airplane, so pull yourself together and if you want to be the hottest girl on the flight, leave your pajamas at home.

**It must be said that as much as I don’t advise pajamas on planes, I equally don’t advise wearing heels of any sort on planes. I would never wear the outfit in the photos attached to this piece on a flight, unless I was traveling on a 45 minute flight to Aspen Food & Wine , in a private jet. I’ll certainly let you know when that day arrives.