I'm trying to get my ducks in a row so I can pack what I need to take to Las Vegas this weekend. I'm trying to figure out what I can take that will be stylish yet cool, because it's supposed to be 187 degrees in Las Vegas this weekend. And in doing this, I'm realizing that I am totally out of my league.
I have been on a plane exactly twice in my entire 42 years of existence...once from West Virginia to Atlanta and then back again. I got up close and personal with the throw-up bags both times. Part of me thinks it has to do with being a control freak; if I can't drive my car there, I don't need to be there. Part of me thinks it has to be with my dreaded vertigo.
Lynne keeps checking on me making sure (1) I'm doing OK and (2)yes, I'm still going. I keep promising her I'll try not to do anything to embarrass her in the security lines. You don't have security lines at the campground. You don't have checked baggage vs. carry-on baggage at the campground...throw it all in the camper and off you go.
I went to the store this week to get Coke and snacks I know I can eat when I start to feel vertigo coming on. Can't take 'em. I keep changing my mind as to what carry-on bag I'm taking on the plane. Can't decide. There are too many decisions to make when flying.
I promise, promise, promise, I'm trying not to embarrass anyone, but this trip is sure to be a case of The Clampets Come to Town.
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