Elite

I enter the airport with a kind of attitude that lets me get things done a lot faster. It's not especially easy to quantify, but I feel it's fully expressed in the phrase

"Bitch please, I'm an elite."

When I travel by air I basically hae to go first class. The simple fact is that I don't fit in a coach seat. This is mostly a weight issue, but fully resolving this may involve filing off a few inches of hip bone. I'm not super opposed to that either, my child bearing hips are the most prominent expression of my femininity, and my testicles have some issues with that.

So, for the wrong reasons I fly with the one-pass elite, and I take on this mindset. The thing is, this mindset is closer to my true self then my normal one, and it shows. I get more done, I spent a lot less time with indecision, I don't bother retreating to hiding spots, and I don't hesitate to chat up interesting/attractive people around me.

That person, the person that I can only touch on in these moments of clarity, is who I really am. I just need this crutch to remind myself of my own power. None of that cam with the plane ticket, it's all just a side effect of being able to call myself "one-pass elite"

I have to wonder if it's really that simple. All I need is some flashy title to carry myself along. It seems like making up flashy titles should be something I'm good at, seeing as I've managed to give everything else a cryptic pseudonym, but nothing really comes to mind.

No matter, it's not line I'm obligated to put down my wine and perform anyway. After all, I'm elite.