They may be too warm but I walk all day in a fall coat and no gloves and then feel positively frost-bitten. Back in Toronto in this weather I would have worn a toque and gloves and a sweater under my coat and felt fine. I didn't pack well enough for Vancouver because of its reputation for warmth and wet. (I didn't know about its tendency towards earthquakes until I got there. I don't know how you'd pack for them. Bring your megaphone to scream better? A pocket fire extinguisher? Small pick axe to dig your way out of rubble?)
Oh no. Oh no. The man sitting next to me on the plane (and its like that Yo Mama joke -- when he sits right beside me this guy is right beside me. I can't actually tell where I stop and he starts) has pulled out a tube of Pringles potato chips. This is going to be a long flight.
I wonder what the1st-class equivalent to Pringle Guy would be? I am flying super economy, where you share the seat with your neighbour in alternate minutes. (No complaints -- as a children's writer I'm happy not to go in a cage with the other pets.) In the larger seats at the front of the plane your thighs are your own, so you won't have sour cream and onion dust flaking over you for hours, but there must be something that'll wreck your trip. The sleep mask that leaks light? The guy across the aisle who goes ka-ching every time one of his stocks splits? The attendant who wont leave you alone? The scotch and coke drinker?
You know, I feel kind of mean, complaining like this when I am flying thousands of kms in routine safety using somebody else's money. This is indeed a 1st world problem. The air, though a bit fragrant, is warm. I wonder if I'll be able to get a few minutes of sleep before it's Pringle Guy's turn.
