This actually happened

I’m back in Munich. It’s totally bizarre. Dumpling is part outraged and part placated by my return.  Although being a modest bird he no longer sees it fit to bathe during the day and waits until his cage is covered for the night. There is a slight problem with this in that he’s almost completely blind in the dark, so about half of the time he crashes into the cage.

Adorable.

He’s also discovered a love of opera, which I’ve been listening to quite a bit. He joins in quite frequently although, sadly, he still sounds like a modem. I believe works by Puccini are his favourite, but to be fair I’m not sure if his singing is a sign of joy or distress. I like to think that the lyrics really speak to his heart ( and that his heart is Italian).

More importantly, I’m not happy about Dumpling highjacking this post because it was supposed to be about how I wet my pants on the plane. Don’t worry I didn’t actually wet my pants. I merely spilled half a glass of warm Heineken beer on them.

It was just sitting there in the cup holder looking all available and I thought “hey why not violently slam this into my crotch an hour before landing?” and followed up by violently slamming it into my crotch an hour before landing.

The result was a wet crotch (and also seat). Moments later a hushed whisper of “oh my god I think the girl in 36A wet herself” spread through the plane.

My seat neighbour was kind enough to run out and get me tissues, which helped to dry up some of the beer, but also helped to make me look like the girl who was dabbing at her crotch with tissues.

Then I was faced with a decision: do I do whatever it takes (WHATEVER IT TAKES) to dry my pants or do I act normal but then walk off the plane with a wet arse/crotch/upper thighs (half a cup, people!).

I decided that my fellow passengers were already convinced that something gross and unspeakable had happened in my seat so, just as the captain was announcing our upcoming descent, I started doing airplane pilates. I threw my legs as far up the seat in front of me and side of the plane as my crippling lack of flexibility and sense of decency would allow (in order to get some airflow, of course) and smiled apologetically at the passing air hostesses mouthing “beer accident” at them.

Then, when shit got serious – that’s 20 minutes before landing – I employed the services of an inflight magazine to fan myself. Just you picture that: a crazy, disgruntled woman (you’d better believe that I was mumbling to myself the whole time) fanning her crotch after dabbing it with tissues and performing aerobics…with a wet crotch. Yup. That was me. This actually happened.

But besides STINKING like beer, by the time I left the plane my arse was almost completely dry. I didn’t look back on my seat and only spared a passing thought to what the staff would think upon finding it. I hope they understood.

But I’ll tell you what – let’s not mention the cab ride home – it’s good to be here. Even with a crotch full of dried beer. Home sweet home and all that.