Boobs and bacon are no sweat but BO raises a stink
Shouting and swearing from fellow air passengers and their nude photos aren't what made Aine O'Connor wrinkle her nose
Pictures: Independent Woman
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• Celebration of the Arts Gala
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• Billboard Music Awards Red Carpet
• Men In Black 3 London Premiere
By Aine O'Connor
Sunday Apr 5 2009
Spanner Girl wasn't paying attention when she booked the flights, so just went for the "hand luggage only" option. To change was going to cost €60, so we opted for less clothing and no conditioner. Beloved, wise to the ways of low-fare airlines, sprang for priority boarding and it was a stroke of genius. Not only was there no stampede, but also we got to sit together and we didn't have to sit on our bags. We had coffee and water and magazines and books, all good to go.
Then, a travelling football team boarded. And lucky Spanner Girl got a travelling footballer beside her. The lads had been in the bar before boarding. Well, it was mid-morning. But they weren't too bad, just a bit loud. They chatted a bit and swore a lot; maybe they do that in front of their own toddlers, so see nothing wrong doing it in front of other people's?
And then they started reading. Well, to the extent you can read breasts. For they were passing round a magazine that had topless women on one page and bacon sandwiches on the next. I was transfixed -- I'd been gawping big time but in my defence, those lads were just so interesting -- however both sets of pictures were presented in colour, for appraisal.
I nudged Beloved who was rather poofily reading a book with no pictures. "That's nuts," he responded. Yes, yes it's bonkers, boobs and bacon. Who could have come up with such a juxtaposition? "No, it's Nuts. Or maybe Loaded." Oh.
The shouting and boobs'n'bacon, you could live with. It wasn't a long flight. The real problem, however, was that my personal next-door member of the team stank. It wasn't a got-up-late-and-forgot-my-deodorant-had-to-run-for-check-in kind of stink. It was the kind of BO that would have to be nurtured. It was the kind that was just there, with him. Bad enough.
But no, not bad enough. I was chatting through that flight too. I exaggerate and I'm all for a nice bit of gesticulation. Yet, not once did I feel the need to raise my arm in the air to illustrate a story. When you think of it, how often does a story or expression require any kind of manual elaboration that requires the complete exposure of the armpit? Not often.
Except, our friend with the BO issues raised his arms more than the average third-class swot. If he wasn't gesticulating, he was scratching his head or foostering with the air-con. To make him sweat more, maybe.
I had a scarf on, a silky thing, intended as some kind of fashion statement (the statement being er... I have this scarf), however, that silky statement became a life-saver. I took refuge in it, burying for salvation my mouth and nose, and occasionally my eyes for fear my retinas might discolour, or melt. (This was after I had seen my poor husband's eyes water after yet another arm-raise.)
It was disgusting but thought-provoking. We wondered, how do you get that bad? Should his mates tell him? Would you tell a smelly friend? Would you have a smelly friend? Are smelly people all single? Should it be considered anti- social behaviour?
And how did Beloved know that was Nuts?
- Aine O'Connor
