The Marxist flew back east for a week, and one his favorite things to do, ironically, is to get bumped up to first class. As he says, he has no specific agenda, no deadlines, nothing pressing, so he doesn't mind flying a day later and being able to do so first class and with free ticket vouchers to boot.
Although I have never actually flown with him, he says that he is a terrified mess and apparently takes great liberty with the open bar to assuage his Marxist fears about . . . crashing? I'm not sure. Being scared of flying seems patently absurd to me which would be a definition of a mental disorder. To be fair, I have a fear of traveling myself. I fear that I will lash out at other passengers who apparently have never been on a plane before, have no concept of travel or how to politely interact with others.
He was so tickled by the first class transcontinental flight he scored, he actually took the menu home and posted it on the refrigerator. The Marxist told me for days afterward what he had eaten, meat, which had disgusted me greatly.
When I ask him about how he can justify the joy of being in first-class as a Marxist, when so many others suffer in coach, he pats my head and calls me a silly girl. Elizabeth, a revolution doesn't mean everyone will live the same and equally. It means that everyone will live better. I say, so what you're saying is, there should be a minimum for everyone? (Pat, pat.) No, we should do away with minimums. Marxy, I just don't understand your ways; you are thinking outside the box in a way I cannot comprehend at this time. I will revisit you later.
I rather like this fellow's story about how the better half lives.
Saturday, December 1, 2007
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