Flying is a Be-atch

For months I anticipated my trip to the Caribbean. A trip that meant beautiful beaches, terrific food and, best of all, quality time with my daughter's family (i.e. the granddaughters).

In order to get there, I had to FLY. Mind you, my husband flies constantly in his work and thinks nothing of it (unless they lose his luggage). I, on the other hand, LOATHE the entire process.

First there is airport security. Over the years I have gotten pretty good at preparing. The process usually is trouble-free and relatively quick. But -- they make me take off my shoes, even when I am wearing sandals. They separate me from the handbag that contains my life (wallet, passport, credit cards, house and car keys). When the security line is backed up, this makes me feel VERY insecure. About one in five times they hand-search my carry-on.

Once through security, I breathe a deep sigh of relief, then realize it will be 6 or 7 hours before my next CIGARETTE! (You probably think this is a good thing. Most folks do. I know, I know, the nasty habit will make me die young -- oops that train already left the station.) I tried the gum years ago and it made me more psychotic than usual, so that is not an option.

The first flight is usually manageably short - anything under two hours is a GOOD thing. But this trip will go through Philadelphia. That entails quickly traipsing MILES through an airport with few automated walkways. My fibromyalgia makes this TOUGH. Hope I catch a ride this time.

The second flight is INTERMINABLE. Hours and hours in this tiny seat with minimal leg room - I am both vertically and horizontally challenged -- below average for the former, way more than I need of the latter. (I really feel sorry for the basketball players.) If we get a First Class upgrade, horizontal will improve. Vertical depends on the size of the plane. But we will get food and drink.

If I do not get an aisle seat, I will panic before I even take it (and probably cry). Frequent stretches are absolutely essential if I am to be ABLE TO MOVE at the end of the flight. Moving about the cabin is a trip. Knocking into all those folks leaning into the aisle in a vain attempt to secure some personal space, or stretching out their legs because there is NO ROOM for them in front of their seats.

I will eat anything the airline gives me, no matter how vile. I will imbibe alcohol if I am lucky enough to be in First Class. I will trek to the rest room at least four times more than I need to for the excuse to walk. And all the while, I will be DYING for a smoke. (Yeah, I get the pun.) After two and a half hours, my legs will start to hurt. An aspirin barely takes the edge off. By the fourth hour, I want to rock back and forth. At four and a half hours, I do.

Landing is a good thing, especially at a small airport where the taxi to the jet-way is short. Deplaning I am well behaved. I have done this drill before. Row by row, please. No pushing or shoving. If someone does try to push ahead, however; at this point there is no guarantee I will not RIP HER/HIS HEAD OFF!!!

Walking up the jet-way after a long flight is one of the greatest feelings in the world. Even when you know baggage claim and customs lie ahead. Finally, OUTSIDE the terminal, I locate an ashtray, light a cigarette, deeply inhale and the world slowly rights itself. An anorexic blond health Nazi complains about the smoke. Oh look, it is the b----h that tried (unsuccessfully) to push ahead of me while deplaning. I smile sweetly and gently waft an exhalation in her direction. Life isn't perfect. It's just a whole lot better than it was half an hour ago.

Note: We actually got the First Class upgrade on the flight home; however, it was delayed and we missed our Philadelphia connection home. US Airways put us up at the airport Hilton for the night and paid for dinner. Finally got home Sunday in the early afternoon. Vacations are wonderful things. Now it's all about laundry and sorting through mail and email.