So here I was on a flight to Chicago and this male fight attendant was seriously gushing over these three semi-hot girls. I say semi-hot because without the make-up, gold earrings, aviator glasses and French manicures, I would have given them a “7”, but with it all I gave them a “9.” Now, if I was a guy, two out of the three of them would have gone down in rating due to the wedding rings they were wearing, but that didn’t seem to bother this prince charming with his gold plastic wings and his crisp blue uniform. The fact that the two cuter ones were already taken did not deter him from hooking them up with small bottles of vodka and soda mixers. “Yea!” they all cheered as he brought them their reward for talking to him and asking all about his budding career as a flight attendant and where he calls home.

Maybe I am just bitter, I thought to myself at the time. Maybe I should have put on some makeup and worn my tank top with the thin straps, perhaps then I would have been privy to the “happy hour” that these Charlie’s Angels were experiencing.

I think my favorite part of the whole exchange was when the single girl of the trio conspired to ask for flight-boy’s phone number and then her sidekicks would ask for another round of drinks. These girls were smooth and this guy was just “sweet” enough to be more than happy to hook them up with a second round of liquid courage.

It turned out that that it was a birthday for one of the girls and a bachelorette party for another.

Their next move to attain some cocktails was a again predictable, but still pretty smooth. “Take a picture with us,” they requested to boy in blue and then followed it up with a promise to make him famous on their Facebook page. “Oh my gosh, this is such a great picture, you have amazing eyes,” the birthday girl said.

That move earned them round three.

At that point the bachelorette was making friends with the six-month baby old sitting across the isle from her. As she cooed at the baby she casually touched the father’s knee while his wife sitting next to him tried to appear that she didn’t care that the tipsy bride-to-be was fondling her baby and husband.

Before I go on with my story, I want to make it clear that I wasn’t judging the three 20-something-year-olds and their boy-toy. In fact, I’d like to admit that the last time I was part of a bachelorette party I ended up slow dancing to no music with a guy I just met by the Marriott Pool in Palm Springs.

As the flight came into its last hour, I did what I do best; made friends. “Congratulations on getting married,” I said to Miss. Engaged in seat A-8.

After some simple conversation she offered me the ultimate me sign of acceptance.

“So do you want a cocktail? That cute little flight attendant totally hooked us up,” she informed me.

“Sure,” I said. “Hey, cheers to getting hooked up!”

“Cheers” my new posse repeated. “Now, lets take a picture.”