"Honey, I'm so sorry," the frail, older flight attendant tells me, voice wavering in panic and embarrassment. "At least let me upgrade your seat and see if I can find you some towels." Her shoes frantically click on the floor, rushing to find me a new seat. "Here, this one isn't taken. Please, sit and I'll find you some towels." She rushes off after she points out the empty seat. I cautiously sit down, flinching when the cold, sticky, and wet material of my shirt brushes against my skin. "Here," the older woman rushes back, handing me towels. I try to dab at my shirt, but the damage is already done and far beyond repair. No matter how much I try to wipe at my shirt with the towels, it's still sopping wet. "Oh, I'm so sorry," her voice wavers, and it sounds like she's about to cry. "I feel awful. I wish I had something to give you, or I wish there was something else I could do, but I couldn't find anything else to possibly help."