So the journey to paradise started, my incredible son took me to the airport. We ate Thai food at one of the Airport eateries, just to honour the fact that I was flying Thai Airlines, something I recommend highly.
After all the dust of immigration queues had settled there I was with my carry on luggage and a new pair of flight socks in their package. I sat at in a lounge area to pull the ever so tight socks over my feet. I sat down near a group of four people, an elderly couple and a younger pair. As I was undoing the packet the older woman of the group looked my way and said, ”Ah yes, thanks for reminding me I have to get my new socks on.” She started to fiddle in her bags to look for the socks I guessed. Her husband a slightly pot bellied man, a Harry-High-Pants type, pulled a wry face as I took off my socks and held his nose theatrically. I looked at him grimly and gave him the finger, he laughed uproariously as I knew he would. He was a twinkly man.
Meanwhile his wife had found her socks and started to bare her feet and legs ready to pull them on. Inexplicably she also pulled out a pair of large pink washing up gloves and put them on, I might add with some difficulty. I looked askance at the plump younger man, sitting across the carpeted isle from me and he rolled his eyes. She then started to pull on her socks with the gloved hands. I looked at the younger guy and flattened my face in disbelief.
I asked her, ”I have to ask: but why are you wearing rubber gloves, very pink rubber gloves in fact?”
Our gloved madam looked up and said, ”It stops them slipping, helps my grip.” The plump man and I couldn’t contain ourselves much longer and we both simultaneously started hooting with laughter. I totally lost my grip, perhaps I need the mental equivalent of pink rubber gloves.
I asked, ”Are you related to these people?”
His plump young wife, the daughter of the older pair, sitting beside him answered, ”No he’s not I am.” she said, and then inexplicably added, “They’re from Nu Zeelun.” It didn’t help me contain my hilarity in the least.
Her husband then said, “I get this all the time.”
The older woman now finished with her own socks looked at me and said, “You made pulling on your socks look easy.” Dead pan, totally cool. Then she got her husband’s socks out and gave them to him.
The daughter, laughing said, “You probably thought they were from Tasmania.” pointing at her parents.
“You mean the strangeness?” I asked.
Harry-High-Pants struggled with the sock packet and with bending forward to pull them on, must have been the high wasted pants. Anyway he started to undo the top of his pants and I theatrically hid my eyes and his wife hit him with a newspaper, the son was now weeping with laughter and the daughter was not much better. Harry-High-Pants was maintaining a straight face, I have no idea how.
Harry-High-Pant’s wife then grabbed the socks from him and waving her pink washing up gloves around immediately started to pull off her pot bellied husbands shoes and socks.
I asked Harry, “Do you have an extra toe?” He stuck his foot in the air and mercifully for my aching abdominal muscles said nothing. Meanwhile his wife with the pink gloves grunting and grimacing, firmly pulled on his new flight socks.
No matter how much she struggled no one moved a muscle to help her, the show must go on.
The son in law, the daughter and I were weeping with laughter. I said, ”That was the best start to a journey I have ever had. You’re all from Nu Zeeland, I can tell.” I said.
The younger woman answered, “We should sell teekets.”
“Say that again.” I asked.
“We should sell teekets.” She though I hadn’t heard.
“Teekets, yes,” I answered, “You’ shud. ”
I had a plane to catch so I left the High-Pants. Mind you I do have pictures of the gloves and the wearer and the activity involved in dealing with flight socks in a most unusual manner. You could’t make this stuff up.