“Let yourself get all caught up, swept away, let him fill you with a thousand pounds of helium until you’re floating at an altitude higher than this airplane. Then, as all of your past men have done, once he sees you floating, he’ll pull out a needle and pop a hole in your bubble, sending you spiraling, spiraling,splat! Face cracked, shattered on the ground.”

“Thanks, Sam.”

“Girl, that hurt me more than it hurt you. No matter how alluring, how exciting, how tempting each one may be, you must keep your two feet firmly planted on the ground and your legs closed in their locked position. Then…if everything goes as planned and with a little luck, in three weeks…you’ll have a husband. So, are you in?” Sam was first to extend his hand like the Three Musketeers. Gail was next, placing her hand on top of Sam’s. I sighed for a moment, then slowly, I extended my arm, placing my hand on top of theirs.

“I’m in.”

“First thing when we land, we’re taking you to get a makeover, ’cause the Mary Poppins look? Hate it!” He scrunched up his face.

“He’s right, girl.”

“You got to get fly, girlfriend. Attitude has to be fierce, hair has to be whipped, clothes have to be tailored, and scissors have to be sharpened. Why?”

Sam eyed both Gail and me down, flailing his arms, snapping his fingers, “Snip snip, hair gone!”

As the plane made its final decent, I was ready to hit the ground running headfirst into my most daring adventure yet. A three-week, nearly thirty-thousand-mile hunt for a husband. My latest mantra: same actions, same outcome—new actions, new outcome. In other words, snip snip, hair gone.

Chapter 6

11:30 A.M. CST
WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 4TH

20 DAYS, 8 HOURS, AND 30 MINUTES TO “E-DAY”

We landed, taxied to the gate, unloaded the passengers, and dashed through the airport like an Olympic 400-meter relay team. We each had our mission. Sam hit the lounge to find three eternally layed-over flight attendants and beg them to swap trips, giving us our needed free time and them more desired flight time. I checked the gates for the next available Transcontinental flight back to Baltimore. If there weren’t any available on our particular carrier, then possibly a sister airline would allow us to hitch a ride. Gail used her feminine wiles to seduce a male ticketing agent into giving her access to the frequent flyer accounts of our five male finalists. We were off. Begging, pleading, punching in numbers, bringing up codes, we were off. Almost exactly as planned, within an hour we were back at the gate. Trips traded, doubts faded, and mission accomplished.

“Welcome aboard Transcontinental Flight 862 with non-stop service to Baltimore’s BWI airport.” We made it, whew.