Couple jetsetters we are. Of course, Candide Swanepoel flies first class on high end airlines while I putter about in the Greyhound bus of the skies, Southwest Airlines, forever in reduced economy class where legroom is now measured in microns.
This may explain why supermodels with long killer legs to die for never end up seated next to me back in 32B, the last row middle seat that offers the twin disadvantages of no reclining and an omnipresent stench of lavatory excrement mixed with spoiled nuts. Yep, there’s no Candice Swanepoels back in those hinterlands.
When I saw these photos last night of Candice Swanepoel at LAX, it only reminded me that never would I see a hot body like hers on my next flight; it will forever be sweaty palmed dude hoisting a block of head cheese he’s bringing to grandma’s house. Enjoy.