Mom tells me that she doesn't understand why flying is so difficult for me. She goes to the airport, goes through the security screening, waits for her plane, boards her plane, sits in her seat for the flight, deplanes, and boom, is where she wants to be. She never has any of the stories I have about flying, about traveling, about one-more-thing going wrong in the adventure. Oh, the one-more-thing-going-wrong means that I have stories to tell when it's all over (and oh boy do I have stories to tell), but in the middle of them, I really wish they were someone else's stories.
So, I told her, pay attention. We'll have stories on this adventure. I'll point them out IN REAL TIME.
I think it was a nervous laugh.