I am not exactly what you would call a comfortable flyer.
I have just recently become tolerant of the fact that things are different heights, meaning that not everything on planet earth is on the same level. Sometimes I have to cross bridges in order to get from one city to the next, climb stairs to my room or even simply stand up (Remind me to tell you later about the time Gary tried to kill Elle and I on The Ferris Wheel of Doom when I was 5).
The stewardess had just finished her speech about emergency exits and we were set for take-off (BTW, are you KIDDING ME? No way am I sitting near one of those! Because if we crash, my heart attack will kill me immediately, resulting in my dead body crashing to the floor, thus blocking the exit and causing everyone else to die).
Of course, I was the picture of calm as we taxied down the runway.
Me: We're wobbling. Is the tire flat?
Flight Attendant: It's fine. Just sit back and enjoy the flight.
Haven't you ever seen Miracle Landing? [pause] What's that noise? I hear a noise.
FA: Yeah. It's you freaking out.
Me: No, no. There's a really loud buzzing noise.
FA: That would be the propellers.
Yes. My plane was so small and ancient that it had propellers. Indiana Jones was probably flying the plane.
Me: We're going to die.
FA: We're going to be fine.
Me: We'll see.
I managed to control myself for the rest of the flight by reading a book. And sweating. And shifting in my seat. Constantly.
I was relieved when we finally started our descent. Until there was a huge thumpbumbPRANG.
Me: [silent screaming] Did we just hit a cat?
Me: [nose in air] I am a Miss, thank you.
That was the longest hour OF MY LIFE.
And there was still the return flight.