I have absolutely no desire whatsoever to have sex with my wife in an airplane bathroom.
At first, the thought of it seems quite steamy but it's fleeting at best.
I think escapades such as this are best reserved for people like Rebecca De Mornay back when she was stealing glass eggs or Mickey Rourke before he metamorphosed into a bloated and rubbery abomination of himself.
I am not judging people who have, or plan to copulate in a flying toilet. As a matter of fact, I respect their zest for adventure.
I am not a germaphobe by any means.
I have eaten unrefrigerated, three day old spaghetti and meat sauce straight from the pot. I have I have defecated in the Penn Station restrooms. I have consumed sushi on a Monday God dammit!
But there is something about the airplane water closet that sucks the sexiness right out of me.
Maybe it's the close quarters. To begin with, it's tiny and awkward. I can't even urinate without hitting my noggin. I would not want to put myself or my wife at risk of sustaining head trauma.
Maybe it's the turbulence. At my age, I make it a point not to engage in any activity that can make me dead. Even worse, I could break my Johnson. I'm sure that's possible. Hell, the door could fly open and expose us to first class. First class hates when commoners use their restroom. Especially for whoopee and such.
What if there was an emergency and the plane were to fall from the sky in a fiery heap?
Have you seen the movie "Alive"?
Do you remember when the fuselage split apart and people were being sucked out the back of the plane, strapped to their seats? I don't want to fly out the back of a plane, stuck to my wife, with her yelling at me in free fall, my Luckys twisted around my ankles.
This would not be a dignified way to die.
Oh and it smells like minty piss. Yankee Candle does not make products that smell like minty piss. There is a good reason for that.
People are meant to make love on velvet sofas or picnic blankets. Carnal Knowledge is best experienced in romantic places like Best Westerns or your mother's basement.
Call this prudish gentleman me old fashioned but it's not for me.
Unless of course I was married to Rebecca De Mornay.