“Terrible seat, but who cares.”
Byron today.
Or as Jill says, “Only Byron could get on a plane, when thousands are stranded, after almost a week — and complain about the seat.”
“Will the lifeboats be seated according to class? I hope they aren’t too crowded.”
She is not alone. I tease my husband that if we ever won the lottery he would bitch about the taxes. I take it that the sign of a truly fortunate life is the ability to grouse over the mundane.