Alright. So. I’m sitting on a Lufthansa jet (or maybe it’s United? I just don’t know anymore), stretched out in a window seat, drinking champagne, and loving this thing called leg room. My parents are across the aisle to my left; I raise my glass to Dad. I’m in this thing called Business Class, see, and I’ve just decided that the best word in the world may just be upgrade.

And here I thought I was becoming too spoiled in the Lufthansa Lounge, where I was 20 minutes ago.

How did this happen? Well, Mom, Dad, and I were waiting in line to board our very delayed flight. But we were making it out of Frankfurt, and that’s more than could be said for a lot of the travelers today! So we’re happy, and chatting, and ready to go. Thanks once again to Dad’s status, we’re in the Premier Executive line, and will board after the Business Class people do. Dad starts telling stories about the times he’s gotten Business Class upgrades over the past few years (he flies a lot), words like Filet Mignon and really good scotch tumbling from his mouth. He’s bragging. I think for a second and then say to my parents:

“I want to wait until my honeymoon until I fly Business Class. If we can afford it as newlyweds, it’ll mean that much more, right?”

They nod, confirming that makes sense. I continue.

“And you know what? If I get offered an upgrade on any flight before my honeymoon, I’ll politely decline and give it to someone else. Can it work like that?” I ask, feeling a little smug. Sometimes, I think about things like honeymoons too much. Sometimes, I’m a little ridiculous.

All of a sudden, a ticket agent is calling “Jameson! Lampert, Jameson!” over the intercom. Mom and Dad rush to the desk while I save our places in line. They beckon me over in just a minute, and suddenly we are being given upgrades and Mom cannot contain the smile on her face and we are all laughing at the irony. We tell the blond ticket agent what just happened, what I moments ago stubbornly decided, and Dad says, “Natalie, wait, you don’t want to fly Business Class today, do you?” to which I unabashedly reply “Hell yes I do” and eagerly accept my newly-issued ticket.

And so, here I am in 12J, sitting next to a tattooed, bald guy who also got a free upgrade. A stewardess just came around asking what we’d like to eat for dinner, and when I said the lasagna, she said it was only for newlyweds. I actually cocked my head in confusion, and then I told her I was a vegetarian and really didn’t want to eat the steak or duck. She said, “I’ll see what I can do” and walked away. I looked over at my parents, a little horrified, and they burst out laughing. Oh. So the jokes have begun.

I unwrap the blanket from its plastic and am delighted when I feel it’s a thin but really nice down comforter. A DOWN COMFORTER. It’s the best blanket ever. I’m definitely taking this with me off the plane…if I ever decide to get off this plane, that is. Next to me, my seatmate is pressing all the buttons and then he turns to me and says, “Okay, I have to ask you a few questions, because I don’t do this very often.” Before I have a chance to say “me neither” he asks me where the TVs are. A worried look comes over his face and his pierced eyebrow furrows and he says, “Are we just supposed to read books and The Financial Times up here? Because it’s Business Class? Aw, man,” and I laugh and show him – already feeling like such the little Miss Business Class Expert – where his personal TV is. “Cool beans,” he says. Cool beans indeed.

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