We picked the flight neither by schedule nor price, but by size. You see, when it comes to flying, size matters, and I wanted it big. Huge. Enormous enough that I wouldn't be able to feel it at all.
It was a Boeing 767-300/ER, which would not have been my first choice, but it was the next best thing after...your one flight to O'hare on a 777 is sold out? What do you mean it's sold out?! Dammit. I winced when we made the reservation, but the B767 was definitely better than the Airbus 320. That little toyplane? Please. It seats 179 people. Ain't no way I'm flying to Chicago by kite.
I had a whole bottle of Xanax in my pocket - enough to calm down Neiman's entire shoe department full of princesses when they find out that they stopped carrying Manolos. But I didn't take a single tablet. Not a one. I didn't even pay $7 for a watered-down cocktail that would fit into a thimble without the ice. I did the whole flight with no drugs, no alcohol, no s--...uh, never mind. Now what was that in-flight movie? Oh yeah, Must Love Dogs.
Just under four hours in the air at a final crusing altitude of what?!? I did not have to know how abnormally, unnaturally high up in the sky-is-made-for-birds we are. Our B767-300/ER swooped out over the Lake, I snapped that photo just before we did a final stomach-turning roll on my side of the plane so that I was hovering face-down at a 45 degree angle over a very blue Lake Michigan (now, Captain, was that completely necessary?!?)... then I'll step on the brakes and he'll fly right by. Oops. Sorry, had another Maverick moment.
We landed at Chicago's O'hare. I made it. Thank God.
All the delicious details of my rockstar vacation upon my return.
Now, somebody get me a hotdog, okay? :)