National Have Sex With a whatever blah blah blah

It was just the astronomical odds that made it so wonderful. Not only hearing the voices of young ladies seated behind me but hearing them bring up National Have Sex With An ugly Person Day.

They knew about my holiday.

Not only did they know about it but they were having a discussion about the pros and cons of it. It was almost too amazing to be believed.

I sunk back into my seat a little further so I could hear every word over the sound of the engines. I was seated in the emergency row and, because the flight was almost empty, I had it to myself. I didn’t dare look back in case they thought i was eavesdropping. I just closed my eyes and drank in each word.

The most chipper voice ended up being an escort. A professional woman. She didn’t see the difference if a woman chose to sleep with an ugly man or not. To her they were all ugly, their physical appearance was just the tip of the iceberg.

Then there was the woman with the slight Hispanic accent. A sultry, almost husky voice. She was a librarian and as soon as I heard that all I could think of was her slowly taking off her glasses and letting her hair down in slow motion. I didn’t hear a word of what she was saying because of the turbulence going on in my pants.

Finally she was interrupted by what sounded like an Asian woman. She felt the holiday was degrading to not only women but to humanity as a whole. She was obviously attractive, you can always tell when a woman mentions that beauty is overrated more than a dozen times in any given five minute period.

An opinionated black woman launched a vocal argument against the hypocrisy of a beautiful woman talking about attractiveness and it wasn’t too long before a girl with what sounded like a heavy Brooklyn accent had to tell them both to pipe down.

It was then that it occurred to me that I was listening to no less than five voices but there were only three seats in the row behind me. I was just about to peek between the seats to solve this mystery when the stewardess stopped by to see if I wanted a can of soda. I told her I wasn’t thirsty but I did feel compelled to express my disappointment that she was about twenty years older than my ideal stewardess age. I’m not sure why I felt the need to share this, I guess I was all caught up in the magic of having created such a wildly popular holiday. The kind of event where no less than five young women were talking about it in only three seats.

I waved her on, telling her to peddle her beverages elsewhere, and tried to pick up the gist of the rowdy conversation going on behind me. I could tell things were getting heated because every now and then I could feel my seat being jostled by these vocal vixens. I could almost see the scene … like an airborne pillow fight. Just when it appeared they would come to blows they all suddenly reached a consensus.

They all loved being sluts. It’s what they were made for. It was the only time they were truly happy. It was the one truth that united women from all races and religions. And what’s more, if they ever met the creator of the holiday, one Lance Manion, they would all take turns banging the holy shit out of him.

Finally I felt it was time to introduce myself.

I cleared my throat. My left eyebrow arched ever so slightly.

I sat up and looked over the seat to see the bevy of beauties sitting behind me.

The seats were all empty.

Like the holiday.