Little Miss Cranky Pants vs. Mr Bubble Popper

I have a bubble. This does not mean I do not appreciate physical contact from people…but this definitely means I do not want to snuggle with strangers on airplanes. Today, my bubble was popped.

With only 4 hours of sleep to my name, I was already feeling like Little Miss Cranky Pants. Never met her before? Just come to my house early in the morning and I’ll introduce you to her. There are only 2 ways Little Miss Cranky Pants can be cured. Number 1: She must have a cup of coffee, peace and quiet and time to read her Bible to remind her that she is not the ONLY PERSON in the world. …OR…
Number 2: Three hours. Yes, it takes her that long to wake up and be able to communicate normally.

Since I boarded my plane after only being up for 1.584 hours, I was looking forward to option Number 1… (Mr. Bubble Popper enters the scene) He was sitting in seat E…the middle seat. I scooted past him to seat F…the window seat. Prime “alone time with God” seating. Or so I thought. I settled in, balancing my soy latte in one hand while digging for my books with my other hand. The plane had not even taken off when I felt a little “snuggle”. I looked over at Mr. Bubble Popper. He was a small man wearing a very large suit coat. He was already asleep as I watched his head sink into his suit coat like a turtle into his shell. He then began to tip. Within moments there I was, with a little man in my lap just snuggled into my bubble as if it were his very own.

I raised one eyebrow and glared into his head, trying hard to send him “get out of my bubble” vibes. So I started to shift…and bounce…and jab…and scoot…and stretch…and wiggle…ANYTHING to wake up Mr. Bubble Popper. Nothing. Plastering my body to the window I tried my best to focus, but take it from me, it’s really hard to focus with a little man in your lap. When the beverage cart came around, the stewardess’ eyes got very wide as she noticed my little lap napper. My eyes pleaded with hers to help me, but she just chuckled and kept on beverage carting. With that, I dove into my briefcase and pulled out my biggest, fattest 3-ring binder and shoved it between us, sending his slumped body sailing back to Seat E. He was still in my bubble, but at least it felt more like an invasion than a snuggle. I can handle invasions of space better than I can handle snuggling-bubble-popping-strangers.

The good news is, I got to read the Word and finish my latte. The bad news is…in all the wiggling I may have given him a black eye.

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