Why I’ll never run out of plot ideas (or at least embarrassing situations).

I’ve written a lot of books where I put heroines in embarrassing situations. After 25ish books, you’d think I would run out of ideas. But no. I never will, because I seem to go through life finding ways to embarrass myself.

Case in point, today’s airplane trip.

First of all, I’d like to say that I’m getting over a really bad cold. Most colds, you can take some medicine and just shoulder your way through them. But this cold kicked my butt. I was so tired, two nights last week, I slept for 12 hours straight. And I took naps. Ain’t nobody got time for that. (Not when I’m trying, I really am, to write Slayers 3.)

I’m finally feeling human again, but I had a flight on the schedule, and I know that one of the easiest places to pick up a cold is on an airplane.

I’m not usually a germaphobe, but today I was really paranoid. As the steward handed out peanuts and crackers, I realized that I’d touched the escalator banister, all those trays you put your stuff in, and the airplane seatbelt. How many other people with different strains of cold/flu had touched those things before me?

I couldn’t just eat crackers and peanuts with my unclean hands. I would have gotten up and washed my hands but I was sitting in the window seat and the trendy/cool guy who’d sat in the middle seat had put his earbuds in and shut his eyes. I didn’t think he was asleep. I mean, who can sleep on an airplane in the middle of the day in those uncomfortable seats, but I didn’t want to get up and disturb him just in case.

And I was too hungry to not eat the snacks.

So I figured I could just open the little packages and pour the peanuts and crackers into my mouth without touching them.

Sounds easy, right?

Yeah, the next time you take a flight, try it.

I’m pretty sure I looked like some sort of desperate snack whino with my head tilted back while I attempted to finger peanuts out of the package and into my mouth.

And the crackers—that was even better. While I was pouring them out, one went down my shirt. Have you ever had to feel around your shirt trying to find an errant cracker? I wouldn’t suggest this activity if you want to maintain your dignity.

And the cracker that accidentally landed on his lap—I didn’t touch it. I just figured he could wake up and wonder how it got there.

So yeah . . . not running out of awkward situations any time soon.