Opportunity

Why does opportunity knock when your makeup has worn off, you didn't wash your hair, and a passenger has just spilled tomato juice on you? It is also at hour 13 of a painfully weary day that started at 4 AM (started work, not wake up!). Yes, this is when the United States Men's Volleyball team all lumber onto my plane. All of them. All of them strapping, tall, clean cut and foxy. All on my little plane. And I am looking like the saddest, little orphan Dickens could've ever conjured up for this day and age. One by one they pass me on their way to their seats. Smiling and polite. I want to hide in a hole. There are no holes on an airplane. Nor are there available corners to touch up makeup and hair. Too bad I spent my last break finding new spots on my face to irritate and split ends to, well, split. Should've maybe brushed my teeth, hair, lint off the sweater etc... Oh well. It wasn't an opportunity anyhow. I just would've liked to imagine them seeing me at my best. Or at least my most average. This isn't so much a blog as an internal rant. Is there a difference?