Ahoy, friends! I write to you with ever so slightly tanned fingers, freshly returned as I am from Key West. A good time was had by all, what with the parasailing and copious inhaling of Cuban food and my not infrequent hissed whispers to Adam that went something along the lines of “Wait! I was wrong! I think we ARE the kind of people who would feel comfortable bringing a nanny along on vacation!”
The most astounding thing? I made it back alive, something I am 91% convinced will not be the case every time I step onto a plane. I am what some kindhearted folks might call a “nervous flyer” and what less kindhearted husbands might call a “THAT’S JUST THE LANDING GEAR FOR GOD’S SAKE.”
Actually, I thought I handled both flights with rather mesmerizing aplomb, a fact helped along by my desire to hide my fear of flying from Aura, who had never flown before but showed not a trace of anxiety. God listened: She got my brains and beauty but missed my compulsive need to be on the ground. TWELVE YEARS OF CATHOLIC SCHOOL PAYS OFF, PEOPLE.
But I also need to give credit where credit is due. For it turns out that the best antidote to paralyzing fear is something at which I have scoffed for months now. Something at which I turned up my nose. Something…amazing.
Thank the skies above for JetBlue, who saw fit to have satellite TV and therefore this reality-show goodness, right as I was about to start hyperventilating into the barf bag in my seat pocket. (Turbulence? Such a stupid, stupid word for something that feels precisely like imminent death. Next thing you know, they’ll be calling “fiery crash” something like fluffy bunnies.)
For nearly three straight hours, I watched in mouth-agape, delighted horror as Snooki and Sammi and other people whose names ended unnaturally in i stumbled and gyrated and completely ruined the English language forever. From time to time, Aura would try to harness my attention by pointing to her television or toy or, I don’t know, a cloud (first-time flyers are such bores), but for the most part it was an airborne oasis of mindlessness.
Of course, Adam saw fit to make fun of me once we landed, but I know he was relieved. For once, he didn’t have to hold my hand or pretend that he was a Jew who knew Christian prayers.
Also, those who live in glass houses, and all that: