Before I embarked on a little European excursion you may have heard about, the only things I really knew about Ireland were:

1. They like potatoes

2. It is the home of Guinness stout (And I, like many Jamaicans or folks of Jamaican stock, love me some Guinness).

Seriously. I may have heard mention of other things, like contentious political conflicts, Gaelic football, leprechauns and four leaf clovers but I knew virtually nothing about the country. And I still don’t know much. But what I do know is that the Irish know air travel. Or to be more specific, Aer Lingus knows air travel. They are now the official airline of MetAnotherFrog (this isn’t actually official. But I am lobbying for it).

Unlike flying Easy Jet, the worst airline in the world (in my opinion) which: a) left me stranded in the Nice Cote d’Azure airport; b) told me that my plane was delayed because it was undergoing repairs (not what you want to hear before take off); c) did not have ice – meaning every beverage served would be a warm one (mmmmm, I love lukewarm apple juice!); and d) worst of all, had a mostly male flight crew which consisted of prepubescent looking man-boys named Jose, Juan and Ignacio, my two flights on Aer Lingus featured a mostly female crew that appeared to come directly from central casting. And in this case central casting was plugged directly into my fantasies.

So with all this in mind, let me present three concepts related to dating/sex that flying Aer Lingus confirmed for me:

1. Presentation, presentation, presentation: Look, not to contradict myself, but I really don’t know if Aer Lingus is that great of an airline. I can’t even remember if they fed me anything. Nor am I certain that the flight was comfortable or that I had enough legroom. What I do know is that the flight crew was smoking hot. Blondes, brunettes, redheads. Nicely sculpted legs, perky breasts and perfectly rounded pert bottoms. Fair complexions, fake’n bakes and even some olive skin tones, with names like Aislinn, Shannon and Imogen—they had it all. Changes in altitude have always had a pronounced affect on my eardrums, but flying Aer Lingus also had a noticeable affect on my rigidity (if you know what I mean). I’ve never been so tempted to press that thingy that alerts the flight crew to the fact that the handsome fellow in 12C needs help. I’m sure it was intentional. I’m sure some dude named Finn or Gavin or Aidan was sitting in a Dublin office somewhere and decided a super cute flight crew would be good for business. What’s the lesson here? Can’t cook? Don’t clean? Don’t swallow? Well, maybe he won’t notice if you wear that sexy pantsuit he likes. Dress the part ladies; you’ll get his heart ladies.
2. You catch more flies with honey: Her name was Colleen. She was a 6 or a 7, when the rest of the flight crew was mostly 9’s. Guess what? Colleen stood out. She smiled, was clearly intelligent, had a keen wit, cracked jokes and heartily laughed at mine. Colleen was extra helpful, was kind to everyone and seemed to genuinely like people. By the end of my flight if given the choice of a flight attendant to spend the night with, Colleen would have won hands down. What’s the lesson here? We all can’t be good looking enough to be part of the Aer Lingus flight crew but that doesn’t mean we can’t get that man/woman we desire. If you’re smart, and you play nice you may get the chance at some nice play.
3. Getting to the bottom of things aka Hell Yeah Moms are hot: I was sitting in the aisle seat (I always, always choose the aisle seat). Across the aisle sat a woman. She was a brunette. Hair cut in a bob. She was wearing white Capri pants and a black baby t-shirt. The outfit was simple, youthful. She looked good. Really good. If not for her two teenage sons sitting beside her, you wouldn’t necessarily think she had kids. After the flight landed, and the seat belt sign was shut off, she got up and was doing Lord knows what because the next thing I know I was face to face with the middle seam running down the back of her lily white pants. Now, I may not have the same level of obsession as our friend Ken, but it is fair to say that nothing (and I mean nothing) gets me hotter than a finely crafted derriere; especially not when I’m literally face to nose with said posterior. Well, while I was swimming in a pool of my own lust, like Icarus flying oh so close to the sun with my waxen wings, Elisabeth Rose nudged me and notified me that Momma’s two boys were shooting darts at me with their eyes. Um, awkward. What did I do? Nothing. I just tried to avoid eye contact at all costs. But the memory of her perfect bottom has not left me. Probably never will. What’s the lesson here? Ladies, don’t let societal expectations or media pressure fool you into thinking that motherhood robs you of your sex appeal. Attractive is attractive. Lots of men will find you attractive regardless of your age or parental status. Being sexy or attractive is a state of mind, and if you feel it you’ll become it. Oh, and a nice ass doesn’t hurt.

Anyway, that’s enough from me. I’m going to go know and see if I can’t book a flight on Aer Lingus to somewhere. Anywhere.