Well my mother is celebrating her birthday this coming weekend and to join the festivities the hubby and I are headed down to Washington, DC this Saturday. Hopefully we’ll be there as they coast out of this blistering heat wave of 100 plus degree weather. Even if they don’t I’ve been rocking some awesome summer fashion with a short peachy-colored stretch-top sundress and some great shorts with short sleeve and even sleeve-LESS shirts. (Can I just say how much I LOVE Lane Bryant’s polo-shirt collection this year? And the fact that I’ve been able to afford to buy some of them??! Having two jobs does have some perks here and there!)
The part of the trip that I am not anticipating with any amount of glee, aside from basting in my own juices anytime I dare set foot outside (like to visit the National Zoo on Tuesday which I can’t wait to do! Otters!!! Asian Small-clawed OTTERS!) *ahem* anyways the un-enviable portion of this trip is going to be the lovely flight from Boston down to DC’s Reagan airport.
Now I LOVE to travel. It isn’t just getting to a fabulous destination for me either. I am a glutton for the entire process. The thoughtful preparation of baggage to provide the optimal balance between preparation and baggage weight for carrying. The fast-paced way I have to process information on all those airport screens to make sure we’re hot-footing it along the correct path towards our next “stand in line to get to the next section where you get to wait”. The arrival at the end point and the reversal of the first process: unpacking into a new local and preparing to greet whatever new adventures await (Will there be a trip through a new subway to a heretofore never explored area of town? Will there be a new decoration at mom’s house to gawk at and fun stories to hear?)
The only thing about which I’ve become at all trepidatious is the ever growing discomfort that airlines seem to feel obliged to bestow upon increasingly larger numbers of human bodies. That is to say, I’ve gotten to the point where I’ve begun to have dreams that I am in the airplane with a tape measure, trying to measure the seat-pan to ensure I’ll be able to fit with the armrest lowered so I won’t have to buy another ticket that we can’t afford since we’re only able to fly at all thanks to a gift card we had won in the first place and what if I DO have to keep the armrest up so I’m not squished, my hubby will be right there so will that be okay or will I be shamed off the plane and …. then I think the dream changed into something about monkeys. Possibly otters. Something fluffy and brown.
At any rate my point is that despite all the many strides I make in accepting my own body and loving it and learning to, within my own budget at any rate, dress it in fashionable ways; I still fear, at some deep level which sometimes even manages to rise pretty near the surface, the panic-induced moments when the world around me tries to tell me I don’t fit in and do not belong.
The interesting thing is that I don’t know why I’m letting all of the recent measures airlines have been adopting of late to further stigmatize larger patrons get to me. It is entirely possible that not only will my flight be without issue; but that the worst part of the trip will be trying to avoid getting self-basting gravy stains under my breasts while walking in the summer heat and nothing at all to do with the airlines, their planes, their seats, or their inane policies.
So for now I need to weigh my potential fears against what I DO know. I’ll be riding in a plane at the largest size in my life. While planes are never comfortable I have never to this point had any troubles fitting in the seats or getting through any of the flaming hoops that security and the airline personal expect you to jump in order to gain the privilege of having spent so much money (even if it is via a gift card) to be stuffed in their flying tin can and thrown through the air to your destination; where you will arrive parched, hungry, cramped yet pressure-sealed for vapor freshness.
So I may have a tale or two about the experience of flying as a around 300lb woman later next week. For now I’m just working on tamping down those trepidations and trying to focus on the fun I usually have at planning trips. Even though it may be faster, I’m thinking that all this mind-mangling anxiety is just another great reason that Adam D and I might next venture to take the train down instead.
How do you deal with flying? Do you anticipate or dread coming travels?
I’d also like to focus for a moment on where in the heck I might obtain a wire-free halter, strapless or racer-back bra. Anyone???