My husband has been bugging me to take a vacation.......without our wee one. He has suggested Las Vegas. "We could go for three nights, the perfect amount of time to be away from Marshall for the first time." He tells me. I keep telling him I don't think I'm ready to be away from my nineteen month old for that long yet.
I'm totally lying to him. I am so fucking ready. I'm ready to get my dance on, and my drink on. I'm ready to put away the t-shirt stained with toddler snot and snacks, and bust out the cleavage baring dress, and hooker boots. I'm ready to take my hair out of its permanent ponytail, and curl it with a proper blow out. There's only one thing standing in my way.
I hate flying.
No I mean, I want to puke my face off at the very thought of an airplane. This isn't your typical "Oh I'm just not the greatest flyer, I much rather be on the ground". Oh no. I would rather shove firecrackers up my nose then fly. Not only am I terrified, I'm also a horrible passenger. I become an irrational, panicky mess, that makes everyone else around me get the jitters. My last airplane ride four years ago is proof enough that I should stay on the ground
The Flight to Mexico
Four years ago, my mother-in-law was diagnosed with breast cancer, for the second time. The doctors were not sure she was going to survive it. (Side Note on my Mother-in-Law: She was fierce as all hell. She lived life without fear. A true power woman.). Shortly after she received this news, she requested a family trip to Mexico were we could all enjoy each others company. My husband was excited to partake on a family trip at a tropical location. I was completely terrified. I had only been on one other plane before. When I was nine. It didn't go well.
I made a trip to the doctor to explain my fear of flying. She prescribed me a nerve pill. I should be fine If I put the pill on my tougue, let it dissolve. It would work right away, she assured me.
The day of the trip came. As we stood in the tunnel attached to the plane I could feel my heart in my throat.
I reached the actual aircraft, took one big step, and I had officially bored the plain. I looked at my in laws, my sister and brother in law, and my husband, and sighed "I did it"
Nobody seemed that impressed actually. I half expected a choir of angels, and some light shining on me, proving that I was some miraculous, brave person for half way conquering my fear.
We found our seats, and my panic started to rise a bit more. I could see everyone else talking, listening to music, just all around getting ready to enjoy the flight.
Were these people out of there fucking minds?? Don't they understand we are going to be thousands of miles up in the air in about 20 minutes. Our feet not so firmly planted on the ground?
I clutched the bottle of pills in my hand, waiting to see if I would need them. The more we waited, the more I thought maybe I will be OK....... maybe I wont need them.
Then the plane moved a bit
Fuck this shit, I need them.
I popped one in my mouth and waited to be taken away to crazy town.
The pills delivered....a little too well.
Within minutes I was giggling and flirting with my husband. Running my fingers through his goatee, and hair. I was rolling around in my seat trying to get comfortable. I was laughing. I actually got up and walked around the plane. I went to the bathroom, and thought to myself, like an immature 10 year old, "Could I really get sucked into the toilet?". I went back to my seat, shared the story with my husband, laughed some more, then passed right the fuck out.....cold. The next thing I remember is my husband waking me up.
"Whats going on?' I mumbled in my sleep voice
"We landed....time to get the fuck off the plane"
All I could think was that those pills were obviously magic.
Anyway, my husband isn't letting up on the Vegas thing.......and thinks my request to drive the two days to get there is completely ridiculous........anybody got any tips for me?