The Teenaged Saviors

Well, we're home.

The vacation is officially over.

It's always tough to come back. I feel like I'm behind on everything. I don't even know what in the world is going on in Big Brother. I recorded those episodes while I was gone. I also haven't watched my daily dosage of celebrity smut on E! so I don't know who is boinking who and what starlet had the latest meltdown. I did hear a snipet about how Miley Cyrus apparently danced on a pole on some award show. Can her father even see??? First he lets her date a twenty-year-old and then he lets her dance on a pole? Trust me, I'm no prude, but I just know my husband would never allow it. If older men come sniffing around for Natalie, well, he's already said he's pulling out his shotgun.

I also forgot that I'm now expected to cook.

Tom asked what was for dinner and I blinked at him in confusion.

What's this dinner that you speak of? And why are you looking at ME?

Then I realized that we weren't at the beach anymore. Food wasn't going to magically morph in front of me. I'd actually have to make it if I wanted to eat.

Dang.

Needless to say we got McDonalds.

I'll deal with the cooking thing tomorrow.

Anyhow, the flight back went okay. As well as can be expected. You see, I hate to fly.

It didn't help that there were TEENAGERS around the emergency exit. We were on Southwest which means you choose your own seats. Tom picked the seats right in front of the emergency exit.

"Gee thanks. The death seats," I said, settling down. Hasn't he watched enough action movies to know that a plane splits down the middle which means we'd go flying out?

Then when the teenagers shuffled in and sat down behind me I started to panic.

"So if we go down, our lives depend on a kid with a STUD in his nose?" I hissed across the aisle to Tom.

Seriously. The kids looked like they could care less. You know if we went crashing down that they'd totally forget that they were supposed to help other people out and save themselves.

I really think the rules should state that people over 25 can sit by the emergency exits. Not 15. The kid closest to the door had skinny ass arms. There is NO WAY he'd be able to yank open the door. Plus, none of them really paid attention when the flight attendant went over the rules. They sort of just nodded and she said in a chipper voice, "I need to have a verbal agreement that you'll be willing to perform the duties of sitting in the emergency row exit!"

Then they all muttered, "Yeah..."

Then the flight attendant LEFT. I mean, HELLO? Did she not see the STUD in the nose? She was seriously allowing these HOOLIGANS to be our saviors?

So yes, I was nervous.

"You look pale," Tom pointed out as I pulled out some books for the kids.

"If we go down, we're goners," I whispered. "You think those kids will do anything?" I jerked my thumb in their direction. I swear, one of them let out a massive fart and they all guffawed about it. Ew.

"We won't go down," Tom assured me.

Then the plane started to move and I always squish my eyes shut just in case it bursts into flames. That way I won't have to see the fireball rushing towards me.

When it was safe I popped in a DVD for the kids to watch and pulled out my book. I was trying to distract myself and was getting absorbed in the story when..

..the plane shook! I'm not kidding! It sort of rumbled in an unhealthy way.

"What was THAT?" I shrieked at Tom.

I expected Tom to assure me that it was nothing. But he looked a little frightened.

WHAT?

WHAT?

"What was THAT?" I repeated. Come on Tom. You're the sane one. Talk me down here...

"I...don't know," Tom admitted.

WHAT DID HE MEAN HE DIDN'T KNOW?

"Is the plane splitting apart? Are pieces shooting off into the sky?" I craned my neck to peer out the window but didn't see anything amiss.

As I was having a freak out a flight attendant came by and asked what I wanted to drink.

"Excuse me, what was that shuddering noise?" I burst out. How could she be asking me what I wanted to DRINK at a time like this?

She looked at me as though I was the one with a stud in my nose.

"The flaps going in," she said slowly as though she were speaking to a child.

Oh. Well. I had never heard them be so loud before. Excuse me.

When the flight attendant walked away I leaned over to Tom. "Just the flaps," I said lightly.

He nodded. "If we did go down I bet you'd wish you have slept with me last night," he said, wiggling his eyebrows up and down.

Ugh. Yes. The night before he kept trying to get down my pants and I was all, "Tom, I can't, you know I go into a state when I'm about to fly," and he said something like, "Why?" and I said, "Because I worry we'll crash," and then HE said, "Well, if we all die, wouldn't you want to have sex one last time?"

(My answer was still no.)

The rest of the ride went off without a hitch.

And now we're home and I need to unpack but I keep glancing at the huge suitcase and groaning. That thing is fifty pounds. When Tom put it on the airport scale and it clicked to fifty I held my breath because Southwest only allows luggage to go that high.

Tom muttered beside me, "I swear, if we have to open this suitcase in front of EVERYONE like that one time I'm going to be pissed..."

Okay. Well. We only had to rearrange ONCE on our way home from Disney World. It wasn't my fault. Can I HELP it that Disney makes such cute stuff? I had no problem opening it and pulling things out. But Tom sort of stood there with a red face and he was mumbling, "You are NEVER packing again!"

Geez. You overpack once and you're blamed for it for life.