Torture

I hate flying. I am without a doubt the worst flyer. Every time I fly, I over pack (well I do this any time I go out of town). I'm the idiot with 10 tubs going through the scanners. I then hold up the line while I repack all the stuff I'm never going to use, but felt the need to pack anyway. I've also been known to get very touchy in airports. I mean one wrong look and I'm convinced the whole place is going down. Add to all this the fact that I get super airsick. We're talking the whole kit and caboodle of headaches and nausea. Trust me, my own husband avoids me on flights. Dramamine is for chumps. What I need to get through a flight is a good dose of Tylenol PM.

As I write this I am sitting in an airport going through these motions. I've already done the scanner dance and ticked off a few people. When I finally got to my gate I learned that the gate was changed yet nobody chose to mention this to me! Good thing I am a type-A nutcase flyer and was stalking my flight on the US Airways's website. We're now reaching the third and final step, the air sick freak out. The plane appears to fit four lego people comfortably, meaning it is going to be a tight squeeze. Joy. Say a prayer that I walk off the plane in Huntsville and don't require a stretcher to be carted off. The only reason I would even consider putting myself through this torture is the end result; my husband!