When Pigs and Babies Fly...

I'm definitely a snob. No doubt about it. So, when I wind up not being upgraded on a cross country flight, it's always unsettling for me. Yesterday, more than usual.

Sequestered back in coach on American Flight 118 from LAX to JFK, I handled the day's demotion from the elite with a little grit and a hard swallow. It wouldn't be so bad. I had some DVDs in my bag. The latest Writers Guild magazine with a nifty dialogue between Larry Gelbart and Phil Rosenthal. My Bose headphones plugged into my iPod. And I planned to go Wifi to do a little e-mail and blogging at 35,000 feet.

But, then, I saw....THEM.

No, not the 1950s sci-fi movie with James Arness. It was another...THEM. In the two rows directly in front of me, there would be two young couples.

With their one-year-old babies.

Before we even took off from LAX, I heard these dreaded words from one of the moms.

"He's teething."

Is there another seat available? Perhaps on the wing?

Actually, the two babies weren't so bad. There was a minimum of noise. Teething never looked easier. Indeed, it was the adults that were the true test of patience.

First of all, they came on board as strangers but the toddlers of the same age instantly bonded the parents for life. I noted immediately one interesting tie between all of them. Each sported tattoos on their arms. The mom and dad directly in front of me sported matching tatts. Skulls and crossbones. Images of cafe society were immediately dashed for me.

The babies amused each other quietly while the parents didn't shut up for 2475 miles. Using the loudest of outdoor voices, these four boobs shared every nuance from the child rearing department. Brands of formula. Mother's milk. Colic. And, believe it or not, the color of their respective toddler's shit. There went the other half of the chocolate chip cookie I was saving for later in the flight. One dad took his daughter and hoisted her high over his head as baby drool dripped down onto his head and the floor respectively.

As we neared New York, these numbskulls realized that their kids were made for each other. A boy and a girl. One of the idiots decided that the moment was perfect for the babies to kiss, so they could say they were in the Mile High Club. They knocked their kids' head together a couple of times and laughed hysterically. The event was announced to all around them.

"Hey, look, this is my daughter's first hook-up on a plane."

The little girl wasn't even 13 months old and already she was branded a slut.

As if I needed one more reason why I strive always to be on the other side of that velvet rope.

Dinner last night: Sausage and peppers at the NY abode.