The official told me that since I flew so much, the airline just wanted to welcome me to what seems like my home.
Mr. McCain and I have been friends since I flew from Saigon in July 1967 to report on an accident on the aircraft carrier Forrestal in the Gulf of Tonkin, in which a Zuni rocket accidentally detonated and set fire to the 400-gallon fuel tank of his A-4D Skyhawk, parked on the flight deck.
I hadn't been on a plane since I flew back from Disney World 25 years ago.
Since I flew into the capital, I stayed on for a few days before heading to the country's two distinct regions, the Flemish-speaking northern region of Flanders and French-speaking southern region of Wallonia.
Because of BLIS, I was able to get the gastric sleeve surgery and since I flew through the operation without the slightest complication, the transaction was all profit on the BLIS front.
That beautiful white piece of technology must still be sitting on my nightstand since I flew out of my apartment like someone told me glazed munchkins were sitting at my doorstep (go ahead and judge me, but nothing beats those little artery cloggers).
I've been increasingly concerned about just how tight the security at our airports is ever since I flew back and forth from Amsterdam carrying, unknowingly, a bottle of lighter fluid, a hypodermic syringe, a lighter and half of gramme of cocaine in my hand luggage.
