I'm back from my first ever conference -- I'll have a full report on Wednesday. In the meantime, here's the latest Mock Me Installment:
Hubs and I went to Vegas on vacation, just the two of us.
We met and married in Vegas and still had friends and family living out there, so we balanced our time between friends and family including one afternoon apart. He planned to golf with a buddy and I was going to lounge by the pool or go shopping or read or something.
As luck would have it, about that time I had a friend I'd met online who lived in California and had tentative plans to fly to Vegas around the time of our vacation. The morning of our solo day, I sprang the $10 for internet access and learned that he would be flying in that day and if I could meet him at the airport, he'd take me for a spin.
***Friends, do NOT do this. It is incredibly stupid to run off to meet someone alone whom you've only known online. I know this, and while he didn't turn out to be a serial killer it was still a stupid thing for me to do***
So anyway, I went to the executive airport -- a completely different experience than commercial airports. In retrospect, there were several warning signs I should have heeded. First of all, I was taller than the plane -- and I'm only 5'4" people. Second, he asked me how much I weighed. You know, if safety comes down to a few pounds, I should just pass. And finally the plane was a Cessna. Now, I don't know much about planes. Well, actually I don't know ANYTHING about planes. I do know, however, that every small plane crash I've ever heard about involved a Cessna.
The universe tried to tell me not to get on the plane but I didn't listen.
I should have listened.
At first it was fabulous! The view was amazing and I felt like a rock star! We flew over Hoover Dam and part of Arizona (didn't get to the Grand Canyon though) This was soooo the right thing to do.
Did you know little planes like this do NOT have air conditioning? Did I mention it was summertime in Vegas? We're talking 110+ degrees in a tiny cockpit about the size of your bathtub. Not good. It had a vent, but it was like blasting a hair dryer in your face.
I happen to have a very low tolerance for heat exhaustion -- I get nauseous whenever I get too hot.
Do you see where this is going? I'm sweating like a pig, and practically hyperventilating trying to control my stomach. Fanning myself with something i found in my purse. No good. And then, out of nowhere, I couldn't hold it back anymore. I threw up all over myself. My tank top (white, of course -- ugh), my shorts, my sandals and, of course, my purse.
He went back to the airport...telling the guy in the tower his passenger had been sick. GREAT! Now everyone at the airport would know. The ride back was not pleasant. Now the cockpit was hot AND smelled like puke.
I cleaned up as best I could in the restroom after we landed, but wound up buying a shirt from the gift shop and high tailed it back to the hotel. I let the valet park the car -- something we don't usually do -- and boy was the car stinky. I was so embarrassed I tipped the guy nicely later.
Remember hubs? He was supposed to be golfing all afternoon. I just wanted to get in the shower and change clothes before he got back. And I should have been able to do it except Fate wanted me to know who was really in charge so of COURSE he was there...and with his buddy. So I stumble into the room REEKING of puke and have to find a way to explain what happened when all I want to do is crawl under a rock and hide.
I should have stayed pool side.