To hell with the term Flight Attendant. I liked Stewardess or better yet Airline Hostess. In the books, James Bond used to say that he wanted to marry an Airline Hostess, that she would always be attractive, that she would cheerfully fluff pillows and fetch scotch.
To hell with the scotch. I just want the outfit. I want the boots and the snazzy dress. I want the little cap. If I had that outfit, the pilot would SO want to bed me.
I would be popular with the other hostesses. We would chat with in the galley. We'd talk about jet lag and our cool boots and doing the pilot. We would talk about the obnoxious passengers and James Bond.
And when we were sure no one else was listening (not that we wouldn't be sure of the same thing when we were talking about the other stuff), me and the other Airline Hostesses would talk about chick stuff like sanitary napkins and the best cheap pantyhose.
*The esteemed artist has informed me that the face of our lovely hostess is actually that of Mark Felt, AKA "Deep Throat" of Watergate fame. Fabulous!
A lone diamond in the sky.
Breath pushes against world. World tumbles through space.
The feeling of falling, an open wound.