When the Jiggler Jiggles

I was at the airport the other day and while I saw a lot of what makes everyday life funny, I discovered that the little something here and there isn’t as stable as it used to be.

When I arrived at the gate, there were many seats available and very few people in sight. I chose an end seat near the edge of the seating area so that I would remain secluded as long as possible.  As departure time approached the seating area began to fill and people started moving into my area.  My area was no longer my area.

As I sat there staring out the window I began to sense something that I didn’t like.  Someone in my row of hooked-together seats was jiggling.  I hate jiggling.  Yes, I know hate is a strong word and I probably shouldn’t use it, but I am, because I hate jiggling.  Actually, it’s not the act of jiggling that I hate. It’s the jiggling that occurs in response to the act of jiggling that gets to me.  You see, when someone jiggles, I jiggle.  When I jiggle, I’m reminded there is a little extra something here and there because that little extra something here and there jiggles when the jiggler jiggles. You jiggle, I jiggle, we all jiggle together-even when we don’t want to.

So there I sat, like a human seismograph recording seismic waves in the form of jiggles.  At one point I glanced down the row to see who was responsible for the jiggling.  It was a lady about four seats away and her legs were jiggling up and down.  I thought that a long stare in her direction would stop the jiggle, but it didn’t.  In fact, it seemed to increase. On my second glance down the row I saw that a jiggling male, sitting next to the jiggling lady, was also jiggling.  His legs were jiggling side to side.  That couple was like a fine oiled jiggling machine with one set of legs going up and down and the other going side to side.  And my little something here and there? Well, let’s just say, I hate jiggling.

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