We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.
On a transatlantic flight, a plane passes through a severe storm. The turbulence is awful, and things go from bad to worse when one wing is struck by lightning. One woman in particular loses it.
Screaming, she stands up in the front of the plane. "I'm too young to die," she wails. Then she yells, "Well, if I'm going to die, I want my last minutes on earth to be memorable!Is there ANYONE on this plane who can make me feel like a WOMAN?"
For a moment there is silence.Everyone has forgotten their own peril. They all stare, riveted, at the desperate woman in the front of the plane. Then an Italian man stands up in the rear of the plane.He is a drop-dead gorgeous hunk.Tall, slender, well- built with curly dark brown hair and hazel eyes.
He starts to walk slowly up the aisle, unbuttoning his shirt, one button at a time. No one moves. No one says a thing. He removes his shirt. Muscles ripple across his chest.She gasps in excited anticipation.
He whispers in her ear, "Iron this, and get me something to eat."