Strangers on a Plane

Sorry I have been remiss with the blogging.  [Somehow, I guess that this is a sentence that we might all have to get used to.  My apologies in advance.]

I flew out to London on Friday the 13th, because apparently my family and I decided to tempt fate. [Okay, if I'm being honest, I'm not superstitious, but it's sort of fun to engage in the ritual.  Unless, we're in a theater.  In which case, I will knife you.  Not really superstitious, but I will hold you to the ritual.]  The flight went pretty well, actually.  My sister and I sat next to a very charming man from Vancouver. We talked for a while about where we were going and why, where we were from recently or otherwise, and, oddly enough, the British Royal Family.  [He was quite surprised that my twin and I kept any sort of track of the monarchy.  Are Americans usually entirely ignorant of such things?  My father, I'm sure, would consider the ignorance a point of pride -- he'd know, but he'd pretend he didn't -- but I'm not sure my dad speaks for the group.]

The really funny part came about mid-way through the conversation.  The man looked at us and said, "I noticed you were signing earlier."

Hannah and I exchanged looks.  "Old habit," I said.

"So, you used to be deaf," he said.  "Did you get an implant?"  When I looked at him, he commented that the implant technology seemed to have improved greatly.

It was at that point that my sister explained that I am not nor have ever been deaf.  Nor is our sibling -- I think he asked if we had any to check for more deafness in the family but that's a no.  The signing's an old habit from a theater group we were a part of called Kids on the Block.  It uses puppetry to teach kids about disabilities.  My twin and I weren't the only ones to pick up some sign, and we've found it useful over the years.  Especially since I don't like shouting about my business on planes.  [Especially since I'm sure no one on that plane really wants to know my business.  It's either weird or boring.  As I'm sure, dear reader, you are coming to realize.  Sorry about that.]

I'm not poking fun at the man for asking.  He was yards and miles more polite about the notion than the many other people who've wondered about my sister or myself.  [To the guy on that flight to Canada, no she is not deaf; no she is not a drunk; no, she is not my girlfriend.  To those boys on the CTA, I don't know which one of us you thought was deaf, but did you not imagine the other one could hear you?  No, okay, you're a bit dim.]  But this man was also one of the few to ever compliment me on the clarity of my diction -- though, as my twin pointed out, he was likely grading on an adjusted scale.

That's must of my story of my flight to London and the charming man who talked with us for a bit.  I've always wanted to have one of those times where you chat with the strangers on your transport and have them not be weirdos [my weirdo stories could be stories for another time if I didn't think they'd bore you lots and lots].

Stay tuned for more adventures [and catching up from my horrendous delay].