Python and the Penshioner

I made it to my seat. The cabin steward grudgingly giving up last minute buckling directions as the airplane began to pull away from the gate. Just as I thought I was in the clear, one of my fellow passengers was kind enough to enquire about the blood trickling down my face.

With a shaky hand I raked my hair back and mumbled thanks and something about
a family head disorder contracted in the depths of the Himilayas during the war.

I came up out of my seat - too fast and found my self face to face with the business end of the cabin steward's lapel pin. Veering swiftly to the left I managed to avoid the addition of a third nostril. Unfortunately I miscalculated the force of this avoidance tactic and ended up in the lap of a Penshioner brandishing a stuffed Python called "Max" (as I was later to find out).

"My Dear" the Penshioner began somewhat tremously "I was told desert was only served in First Class. My you are a scrumptious morsel. Would you hold my Python while I adjust meself?:"

I politely declined her offer and thought it best to heave myself off her lap in order to give the most immediate comfort.

The Python however had other ideas. The stuffed creature had managed to wind itself around my feet. I fell across the aisle like a newly-felled oak. Searing heat plumes exploded behind my eyes. I blinked back white hot tears of pain. I could feel a sticky dampness seeping out beneath my head. I reached back to see if my skull was still intact.

Suddenly my head was filled with the voice of an Angel. "Now Gerald tip the juice box back up there's a good boy." Gerald was not as taken with the Angel as I. A torrent of sluice rained down upon my face. At least this accounted for the sponginess behind my noggin. "Oh for pity sake Gerald!:" exclaimed the Angel. "I am so sorry sir! Would you care for a wipe?"