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The Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage and Yours Truly recently enjoyed a trip to Thailand. In planning the trip, I did not consider the time we would spend on the airplane. My focus was on what we would do upon arriving in Bangkok. I was determined to crowd as much as I could into the seven days we had.

I was not fully prepared to spend 17 days on an airplane.

One thing I discovered about these airplanes is they are not made for men. For some inexplicable reason the designers of these aircraft think people are only five feet tall. I for one, exceed that 5-ft. limit. I happen to be 6 foot 3 inches and God has generously supplied my frame with a corresponding body mass, plus I have added a few pounds of my own just for good measure.

The airline industry engages in a diabolical conspiracy. As soon as the plane leaves the ground, flight attendants begin plying passengers with liquids of all sorts. One by one, they brought out trays of water, orange juice (which was really a watered-down Tang version) along with sodas and coffee.

Now, the strange thing about this is the airlines have worked out a scientific formula so everybody on board has to go to the restroom at . . .

The Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage and Yours Truly recently enjoyed a trip to Thailand. In planning the trip, I did not consider the time we would spend on the airplane. My focus was on what we would do upon arriving in Bangkok. I was determined to crowd as much as I could into the seven days we had.

I was not fully prepared to spend 17 days on an airplane.

One thing I discovered about these airplanes is they are not made for men. For some inexplicable reason the designers of these aircraft think people are only five feet tall. I for one, exceed that 5-ft. limit. I happen to be 6 foot 3 inches and God has generously supplied my frame with a corresponding body mass, plus I have added a few pounds of my own just for good measure.

The airline industry engages in a diabolical conspiracy. As soon as the plane leaves the ground, flight attendants begin plying passengers with liquids of all sorts. One by one, they brought out trays of water, orange juice (which was really a watered-down Tang version) along with sodas and coffee.

Now, the strange thing about this is the airlines have worked out a scientific formula so everybody on board has to go to the restroom at the same time. In looking around, I estimated over 400 people on board and only four restrooms.

Fortunately for me, I have a bladder the size of Texas, which has held me in good stead on many occasions. It was only a matter of time, however, when I needed to go. My back teeth were floating and my eyes were bobbing up and down.

In going to the airline restroom, I was in for a little surprise. And when I say little, I mean tiny. When I got to the back of the plane, I noticed on the rest room door a sign: 'toilette.? I was soon to discover what that word really meant.

The word 'toilette? is along the same lines as the word ?kitchenette.? A kitchenette is not really a kitchen but a scaled-down version of the real thing without all the amenities of a normal kitchen.

Looking into this toilette, I could not believe my eyes. It was like crawling into my back pocket. However, when nature calls it expects a suitable response. I knew I had to get into this 'toilette? as quickly as possible.

With all the Yankee determination I could muster, I plunged into this diminutive room. I squeezed in, closed the door behind me and faced a little bowl mounted on the floor, which I took to be the business end of the restroom.

Looking at this little apparatus, I discovered a rather severe problem. In squeezing in to this room, both hands were hanging down by my side and I could not move them. Functionally, I was stuck. I could not move my arms and the urge initiating this venture was stronger than ever. I had no other choice but back out.

This demanded some strategic thinking on my part. This time, in going into the room, I held one arm over my head and squeezed back into the room. Again, I was facing the little bowl mounted on the floor and discovered I could not move either of my arms again. One arm over my head was stuck and the other arm by my side was just as stationary as before.

By this time, I was borderline panic. My mission in this room was not complete, and the urgency of my mission was at an all-time high.

Again, I backed out of this little room and rethought my strategy. Then an idea hit me. If I cannot go in straight because of my size, I would go in sideways. Putting my strategy into action, I easily slid into this room with both arms free. I congratulated myself on my success.

Then I discovered a new problem. The little apparatus I needed to use was now to my immediate left and I was facing the mirror. I had to do a lot of twisting but I finally found a promising position for the business at hand.

One thing about airplanes I do not understand is what they call turbulence. We had been in the air four or five hours with no turbulence of any kind. The flight was so smooth I did not realize I was in the air.

Now that I was jammed in the 'toilette? with no possibility of maneuvering and I had begun what I had come here to do (once I began there's no way I can stop), the airplane experienced turbulence. Not just turbulence, but the pilot for my benefit managed to scrape the top of several mountains, causing the situation at hand to get out of control. I was hitting everything but the little device mounted on the floor. By the time the turbulence was over the entire room was soaking wet, including me.

I eventually got back to my seat an exhausted shell of what I was when I left. Slumping into my seat my good wife asked, ?Have any trouble??

She?ll never hear from me.

Sitting there, I reflected on some scripture. ?Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father's house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you.? (John 14:1-2 KJV.)

I have every reason to believe that God's heaven will be no ?heavenette.?

Copyright, Rev. James L. Snyder
Used With Permission
For reprint permission, contact the auther through his site at:
http://www.realezsites.com/bus/godspenman

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