Even though he usually puts up with you, your husband tells you you are terrible to fly with. You call yourself a “scary flyer” when you really mean scared. But others on the plane with you might agree when you say scary.
Because you have been called “The Next Great Travel Writer” by a national magazine, your friends call you a paradox and a contradiction in terms when you tell them you must have the window seat so you can watch the wing. Something in you believes your very gaze will hold the plane in the air. Behind your back, your friends call you a freak. Strangers buy you Bloody Marys because whenever the plane makes its usual takeoff or flying or landing noises you grab at whoever is within reach and ask, “What was that? Did you hear that? Is that normal?”