Dallas: A Tale of Two Models

If you had seen it in a movie, you would've said it was cliche.  Be that as it may, this story is 100% true. 

Nevertheless, as I moved to the back of the plane, mentally counting the rows ahead, it appeared a young woman was sitting in my seat.  I arrived at Row 30 and curled up in the window seat, dressed all black with a colorful babushka wrapped around her neck was "Ivana" (names are being changed).

"Excuse me, I think you're in my seat?"

Her voice was soft, hesitant, as if English was her second language.

"No.  I am sorry?"  She looked up at me with her ticket.  "Window?"

I looked at her ticket.  30D.  The aisle seat.  "I'm sorry.  That's 30D, the aisle?"  I pointed to her armrest.  "See the number there?  30 F."  I smiled at her, but she started to shift her eyes around, getting upset.  "Uh, would you like to stay there?  I actually prefer the aisle seat."

At once she settled, the signs of worry immediately vanishing as a smile that radiated a thousand things at once appeared under her small, button nose. 

"Thank you."

TO BE CONTINUED WITH THE ARRIVAL OF THE GIRL FROM HOLLAND! (and yes, that IS a picture of Ivana)