Hello from the north! Long story short: I’m on Long Island for my friend Sara’s bridal shower. I’m her maid of honor, so it’s been a crazy hectic weekend. There’s a lot that goes in to planning an event like this, especially long distance. But that’s for another time.

Here is an excellent story for you. Yesterday, I flew out of Newport News, and was on the last AirTran flight ever out of Virginia (it merged with Southwest today)! That was exciting enough – all the employees were in great spirits and cracking jokes, so I assume that they either weren’t losing their jobs or that they got pretty sweet severance packages. They even gave away a couple of free first class seats. I did not win one because I could not answer the trivia question, but I will never again forget that the capital of Iceland is Reykjavik.

However, the merits of my regular old economy seat became clear when I realized it was next to a handsome young fellow who also happened to be… wait for it… BRITISH. Yes, the fates smiled upon me that day.

But then they frowned. As it turns out, there was a lady sitting in the exit row who did not feel that she could save everyone’s lives or lift eight hundred pounds in the event of an emergency. The flight attendant sadly decided that my strapping young Brit could do the job admirably (which I have no doubt he could have), and made him switch seats with the aforementioned lady. Not cool.

And that’s the end of the story, for the most part. The flight was quick and uneventful, and we came down over New York just as the sun was setting.

I did see Brit Boy at baggage claim in LaGuardia, but it was only to exchange a farewell glance before we parted ways. That’s probably for the best, though, because extended conversation might have led to me babbling about the Royal Wedding or whipping out my best Tony and Control impressions. For as much as I love them, I really don’t know how to handle myself around British people. They’re way too cool for me.

Until we meet again, British guy.