I'm No Good at Goodbye...

I met my husband on an airplane in December of 1992. You heard that right. We were seat mates on a flight from Philly to Indy for Christmas break, both of us traveling home to see family. But the story doesn’t end there. We talked the whole way and I asked the cute guy next to me if he wanted to meet for drinks at some point during the week but he didn’t take me up on the offer. To this day he reminds me that he’s shy (and I’m not) and he didn’t want to get stood up. We didn't exchange numbers (I'm not sure why but I didn't own a cell phone back then. Remember the bag brick? He got me one that January!) I chalked our meeting up to happenstance and remember telling my folks about the guy I met on the plane. But the story doesn’t end there.

A week later I stepped on a plane at the Indianapolis International airport and was looking for my seat when I saw someone waving me down. You know that ‘both arms in the air, I’m here, I’m here’ wave that’s hard to miss? It was that cute boy. Yep. We were on the same flight back to Philly. I know what you’re thinking. What are the odds? I actually looked it up once and at the time, the odds were less than .0001% that you’d meet your spouse on an airplane. You think I would’ve been smart enough to know that given I met my husband on an airplane twice, airplanes would become part of our story, right? Nope. Not this girl.

I never thought about airplanes much beyond our story but now people coming and going has become the backdrop of my life and I feel a little guilty saying that I hate airports but I do. I guess what I really mean is that I hate return trips.

I want everyone to come and stay because I’m sick of telling all the people I love goodbye in a cold, sterile environment with strangers staring at me while I cry and drag out my ‘until next time’ speech. #StupidAirports #MissMyPeeps