Sunday, May 22, 2011

No, my pain is worse than YOURS.

Once upon a time I was a traveler.  I remember my first flight, but have no idea how old I was.  Had to have been under the age of five.  I remember because it was really stormy weather (plane bounced all over the place and lightening!), and my sister (9 years older) squealed, sobbed, and cried the entire way.  It didn't dampen my spirit for flying, at all.  Next time I flew I was 15.  My Dad had a business trip to Vancouver, BC and decided I could be his travel companion.  It was fantastic.  The city was beyond awesome, but the flying was the shiz-nit.  Had I been able to fly everywhere I went, I would have.  And I do mean everywhere.  Flying meant efficiency, even as a teen it was something I highly prized.

After that trip to Vancouver, game was ON.  I flew somewhere every year (at least once a year, many times it was more than that) after that.  I flew to visit colleges.  I flew to Europe.  I flew home from college.  Hell, I flew out to Boot Camp when I joined the Navy.  After I joined the Navy, I took the Navy Flight Test to see if I could make it into flight school.  Passed with flying colors (pun intended).  Unfortunately, my path to becoming a pilot in the Navy was derailed by horrific vision and a penchant for pissing off sexist superiors.

Still, flight makes my heart skip a beat.  In a good way.  Just being near an airport makes me happy.  For my birthday last year, Rob surprised me with a flight lesson.  Best.  Gift.  Ever.  It was an amazing day, perfect for flying.  I felt like a little kid, the excitement the lasted for days.  Getting a pilot's license is on my bucket list.  Owning an airplane is on my list after winning the lottery. 

Today I had to drive Rob to the airport.  His company tapped him to fly out to Minneapolis last minute, for a week.  I was insanely jealous.  I mean, come on....there are no business trips for SAHMs.  When I started to think about why I was so jealous, it was because the son-of-a-bitch gets to go to the airport and fly away!  Then he told me he has to go back to Minneapolis in August, and Cam and I could go with.  Happy again.

As we approached the airport it occurred to me that I had not been to the airport in ......years.  Actual years.  My last trip was in November of 2009.  It was an impromptu trip to Grand Cayman (yes, you can start the pity party without me, I know.) with my favorite cousin.  Her hubby had to drop out last minute, so I got to fill in.  The place is absolutely fucking gorgeous.  I could write a whole blog about how awesome Grand Cayman is, but that's for another day.  When I got over the shock that I hadn't flown in that long, Rob had to make me feel like an even bigger asshole by saying he hadn't been on a plane since our trip to Hawaii...three years ago.  Okay, he wins the "poor pitiful me" contest.

I pull up to the Southwest drop zone, and we unload.  As I kiss him goodbye I earnestly say "we haven't been apart for more than two nights...EVER."  He looks at me, sighs, and says "Um, you went to GRAND CAYMAN...remember???" 

Oh yeah.  So I guess my just desserts are that he got to fly off to awesome (?) Minneapolis, and I got stuck making the loop around the airport.

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