Traveling in Relative Hell.
As we flew to London, my Mom & I sat aisle to aisle. The poor bastard trapped next to my Mom in the middle seat didn’t realize that when he booked a non-stop flight, it referred to my Mom talking to him the whole way across the pond. Meanwhile, I tuned out reading my kindle. Feeling guilty, ” I gave her hostage half of my meatball sub in sympathy. By London, the poor guy was blinking in Morse Code and his Stockholm Syndrome caused him to crave a nice piece of gefilte fish.
Rubber Chicken 