He completed it in January and now I am confronting the inevitable:
He expects me to fly with him.
Decisions, decisions... I feel like I am deciding what age I want to die.
Recently I was discussing Erik's new hobby with my Dad. He asked me, "What, Cristin, do you want to live forever?" My answer was, "No, but hitting 50 would be nice." (That question is funny considering that my Dad, when given the opportunity, didn't want to go flying with Erik either.)
It's not that I don't love my husband or that I don't love thought of flying all over the place. I just don't love the thought of being in a small private plane. I have only been in one twice in my life. Of course, both times I thought I was going to die.
The first time was in 2004. A friend of Erik's took us from Provo to Heber in Utah. I may be smiling in this picture, but inside I was screaming for dear life. It was terrifying riding around in that little car in the sky.
The other time was last September when we went to Milford Sound. As the pilot pointed out glaciers and majestic waterfalls, all I could think about was, "Why did I pay money to die???" I swore we were going to crash into a mountain.
Lady J can be purchased here.
As if the thought of flying with Erik isn't scary enough, he also wants to purchase the Lady J Female Urinary Director Adapter for me. I can't even begin to imagine how that thing works. Too frightening.
What's weird is that all these people we know want to fly with Erik and I don't. Please don't think I'm an awful wife. Just think about it like this: It's like driving with a new driver, except that I don't know how to drive the "car." If the "car" breaks down, we probably die... in a big bloody ball of fire, plummeting to our deaths, at 500 miles per hour. Ouch.
With all of that being said --
Congratulations, Honey. I'm proud of you. Honestly, I really am.