Getting off the plane I slung my backpack over my shoulders and stood in the aisle waiting for the fuselage door to open so we could disembark. Behind me I heard a bunch of huffing, puffing, grunting, sighing, and all other forms of complaint and disdain that can only be made by grumpy exhalation. The woman who stood up behind me, pushing incessantly, so certain that through windy protest she would transmute through some thirty passengers before her to get off the plane first, shoved me hard and yelled, “Get your fucking backpack out of my face!”

Taking a cue from the Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup commercial, I shot back, “Get your fucking face out of my backpack!” This brought some applause and general laughter. She really was making a pain of herself.

Bygones and bless her wee heart. Her issue was not with me or my backpack really. Calmly now, lady. Take it up with God for making you short and keeping you on the cusp of menopause the past two years.