I didn’t Choose the Good Life, the Good Life Chose me

I’m pretty sure I know when I got my first taste for the good life, and it was when I was 14. I remember I was starting to come into my little hour glass figure and I had bought this little black dress with white polka dots from Mariposa.  I was heading home to where my parents lived in Tanzania and had a solid 2 days of travel ahead of me solo dolo. I had always been stubbornly independent so this was no big thing for this little polka queen, and felt like I had some new hips to swing.

There I was with a business class ticket in route to London Heathrow. I had my Neon Yellow Sports Discman and binder full of CD’s in alphabetical order. Was I going to start my 9 hour flight with some Bjork and move into some Radiohead then turn it up and head into some Snoop Dog and Wu-Tang? I had my Vogue and Cosmo mags ready to go with the page corners turned down on the quiz pages that were going to reveal if I was a Sex Goddess or if my personality was compatible with Tom Cruise.

Ironically, at that stage I had maybe a few French kisses under my belt along with a feel up on the high jump mats stored in the school gym.  My first French kiss was with this guy Matt, and I he had just eaten a dill pickle. I should have settled for him in grade 7 because he ended up winning the lottery 3 times- I don’t joke. Maybe had I given him the blow job of his life he would have never broke up with me. But I didn’t know what that was yet either. The only access to porn we had was getting quick peaks of the playboy and hustler mags that were positioned in the back row of the magazine racks at the 7-Eleven. I was as green as the grass that grows in spring.

They were showing Jurassic park as the in flight movie, and the airline stewardess was handing out these little toiletry bags that contained nothing but Body Shop products. I thought I had truly made it in life with all my mini toiletries smelling like a fruit salad of satsuma and pink grapefruit. I asked myself can this get any better.

 It sure could.

The stewardess asked if I was travelling by myself which I responded hesitantly as I thought maybe she’ll assign me an adult and all will be ruined. All the “Between the Sheets” tips I had absorbed would go down the tube and the steamy love affair I had plotted out in my head with the cute boy in row 8B would be no more.

 But as luck would have it she offered me a seat up in the first class lounge, which I casually accepted, not aware of what awaited me on the other side of those velvet curtains. I’m pretty sure when I crossed the threshold it was my right of passage whereby I knew I was where I always belonged. Not only did I get more Body Shop Toiletries, I had a buffet of fresh fruit, cheeses, desserts and Swiss chocolate. Once seated I waited as long as I could so that I didn’t blow my age but I could not wait any longer. I went over and discreetly filled my entire ESPRIT back pack with everything that could ignite a teenage hormonal acne outbreak. I’m sure there was not enough Clearasil that could have intervened with this ravenous chick in a black polka dot dress.

As I settled into my seat with my bag of goodies, the stewardess came and handed me a hot wet towel. Next was the flutes of champagne and strawberries. The flutes were endless and I learned I could add grapefruit juice or orange juice to them, being advised these were called “Mimosa’s.” Within hours I felt like I was getting cultured as fuck and you couldn’t tell me otherwise. After about 10 of these I’m pretty sure I blacked out because I was in London and needing to transfer planes at Heathrow.

If you’ve ever been to Heathrow, its one of the largest international airports and it’s a nightmare. I’m not sure how I got to my next flight which was in a completely other different terminal and required a train and a shuttle. It was intense, but slightly satisfactory as I’m sure this was my first “Drunk Adventure.” My adventure took me to the first class lounge where discovered more goodies, and more of these Mimosa’s. I was an expert at ordering drinks now and I ordered myself a Mimosa, but got extra fancy and asked for orange juice and grapefruit juice in it, thinking I was going to approach it the same way I would at a fountain pop station. There I was perched in the club chairs, attempting to cross my legs like a lady surrounded by business men and a couple Arab Sheiks to my right. I pulled my Discman out because I felt like I needed some theme music and chose some Ace of Base with “All that she wants” booming from my little foam earphones.

By the time I headed to my gate, my hips gained a bit more swing as I smiled confidently at all the peasants walking by who had no idea they were dealing with a certified Mimosa queen and I had made it to the big leagues.

As my flight continued we had one stop in Dubai where I watched all the beautiful women begin to put on their Burka’s and tuck away any evidence of a goodtime. I wondered what their life was like and had wished I had not felt so shy and talked to them with my new maturity and class.

By the time I got to Tanzania I quickly realized wearing a little black dress to a third world country with  bag full of old cheese and crumbled cookies was not the best idea. My head was booming and with the heat and smells I barely made it to a garbage can. The class I had acquired over the last 9 hours went to shit, and mommy and daddy were waiting on the other side waving at me excitedly, blowing my whole cover. As soon as they saw me in my little slutty dress because it was now wrinkled and riding up my thighs from the flight, their response was “Wow, you’ve grown up!” That was all I needed to confirm that there was no turning back, I could never be that girl who would settle for dill pickle breath and plain orange juice again.  I hope they knew that I’d never accept anything less than first class from then on, and I had demands. But I assure you like any good set of parents, they grounded me as they quickly smelled the booze on me, and my crown knocked back onto the floor of reality. But regardless, it was too late, I still hang onto that crown and place it on every now and again to remind myself to just work harder, because the good life chose me not the other way around!

Click Here for More TaleZ!

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s