Sometimes the skies are too friendly

My Flypaper for Freaks moments are not just restricted to my dating life. I emit  a pheromone that freaks sniff out like the aroma of fresh-baked cookies. I fear that I am irresistible to them. One of their favorite places to accost me is on  airplanes. Who knows why. Maybe because I'm buckled into a confined space  and can't escape? Par example, when flying home from a business trip on the west coast, we stopped  in Denver. Everyone on the plane, except me, disembarked. I was the lone soul continuing on to the great metropolis of Clevesburg. Being that I was flying Festival Airlines (Southwest – which I call Festival Airlines for its free-for-all festival seating policy), I was free to choose a new seat – preferably one with plenty of leg room. I had my choice of any seat on the plane! As a bonus, the flight attendant had informed me that the flight was only half full, so the chances of one of the unwashed masses sitting directly next to me in a middle seat was low. My internal jukebox started playing a joyful tune that went something like, “Happy days are here again ….” Where to sit? Where to sit? I mused. Then I espied MY seat. It was the seat right by the window in an aisle where the rows of seats faced each other. I've never been on a plane before with facing rows, but, hey, lots of leg room, so it worked for me. I usually pick the window seat when possible. I find that looking out the window discourages strangers from talking to me and, unlike the aisle, there are no service carts bumping your elbow or people brushing up against you. I settled in with a sigh of contentment and started reading my book again while “happy days” continued to hum softly through my brain. I hear the shuffle of footsteps and didn't even bother to look up. I mean, who gets on an empty plane and sits next to the ONLY other person on the plane … in a middle seat? I mean, who'd do that … … … Yuppers. First person on the plane sits DIRECTLY next to me. And her four friends fill in the seats around me. There are now six people, including me, on the plane and they are all sitting within touching distance of me. What the Hell??? Who does that? The woman who sat next to me is now leaning on “our” armrest and peering expectantly at me. <SIGH> I look up and give her one of my best, closed-mouth, “nice-to-meet-you, please-don't-talk-to-me” half smiles and she lays her hand on my arm and says, “Sister, have you accepted Jesus into your life?” Why isn't the window high enough for me to bang my forehead on it? The happy tune in my head has now changed to the theme song from “Just Shoot Me.” She and her friends spend the rest of the flight to Clevesburg trying to “save” my blackened soul. They also told me ALL ABOUT the religious conference they attended in the Denver area.  How come I can blurt out the most appalling things at the most inappropriate times,  but I couldn't muster the gumption to say, “I practice black magic and like to hex  people who talk to me about Jesus.”? Hmmm? Is it because the polite part of me is  pretty good at stifling the bawdy, loudmouth who occasionally peeps her head out? I MUST have been Lizzie Borden in my past life and I am now atoning for my sins one freak at a time.