Definitely Not Flying Virgin

(I am on a hopper flight from a small town airport to Seattle-Tacoma International where I will catch my home flight. The plane is rather small, four front-to-back rows of five seats each and a five seat row across in back. I am the last to board. There are two available seats: the center of the back row of five, or one of the aisle seats. Being a tall man, I choose to sit in the center of the row of five so my legs can stretch into the walkway. A flight attendant comes down to do her pre-flight checks and sees me.)

Flight Attendant: “How are you today, sir?”

Me: “I’m okay. Not a fan of flying.”

Flight Attendant: “It may be easier to sit in the other seat.”

Me: “I like to stretch out, if it’s okay.”

Flight Attendant: “That’s fine, but you will have to open your legs when I come down to do my service.”

(Just as she said it, she turned bright red.)

Flight Attendant: “DRINK SERVICE!”

(It hadn’t even occurred to me what she had said, and the young couple next to me burst out laughing before I caught on.)