“Sam, you ashy-ankled, clog-heel-wearing, Barbra Streisand wannabe. You just mad ’cause you weren’t born a woman.”

“Well, that makes two of us. ’Cause a real woman wouldn’t be caught dead with curly red highlights and doo doo brown roots, you section-eight little orphan Annie. Can somebody say touch up! Woo hoo!!! Touch up!!!”

As the argument headed into overdrive, the fasten seatbelts sign illuminated.

“Flight attendants, prepare doors for departure.” It was the voice of the captain as our flight was about to begin. Sam grabbed the microphone and began speaking.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the captain has now turned on the fasten seatbelt sign. All passengers must be seated with their seatbelts fully fastened.”

“Give me that microphone, Pinky. I’m working first class tonight.”

Gail yanked the microphone from Sam’s hands and took over the announcements. “At this time all overhead bins must be closed and tray tables locked and in their upright positions.”

“First you got to have class first before you can work in first class. Give me this microphone you nappy-headed cow.” As they scuffled for the microphone, I stepped in and relieved them both of their announcement duties.

“I’ll make the announcements. Sam, you work business class, and Gail, you take coach.”

They both mouthed ill-fated death wishes to each other while taking their posts.

“Our captain today is Pilot Tim Watts,” I continued. “We’ll be flying at an altitude of 35,000 feet. Our flying time is approximately two hours and thirty-five minutes. We now ask that you direct your attention to the monitors located in the front of each cabin for important safety instructions.”

Finally we were in flight, on our way to the bright lights of Chicago’s windy city. Home of Jordan and the Bulls. Payton and the Bears. Sosa and the Cubs. But none could compare to Graham. Graham was my all-star. The NBA championship ring, the Super Bowl ring, and the World Series ring all paled in comparison to the sparkle of the ring that awaited me.

“Cream and sugar? Just a moment, coming right up.”

I poured the coffee and served the tea. All was well on Flight 592.

“Girl, I can’t wait to get to Chicago. I’m gonna get my party on!” Sam exclaimed, beaming with cheer.

“You too?”

“Yes, girl. Ain’t no party like a Chi-town party! But why are you so happy to get to Chicago?”

“Oh, no special reason,” I said, letting out a brief giggle while I continued pouring coffee.

“Was that a giggle?”

“No.”

“Then what was it?”

“It was a…” Again I giggled. “It was nothing.”

“Wait a second, girl. Did I just see some magical pixie dust fall from your eyes?” Grabbing my hand, placing the coffee mug back on my tray, Sam led me to the galley area. “Excuse us,” he said to the passengers nearby.

“Okay, Montana, dish it, tramp. What’s the T? You are giggling way too much for my taste.”