fraidy cat

for someone that flies as much as i do, both for work and for business, i have to confess something: i am terrified of flights. it's not the actual act of flying or fear of crashing in a fiery twisted, mangled, wreck, my body never to be recovered; it's the end of the flight when i get really nervous. it's when i am waiting at baggage claim, i get the most awful, queasy feeling in my stomach.

i have this overwhelming fear that when my bag comes down the chute onto the conveyor belt, that there has been a catastrophic zipper malfuntion, somewhere between check-in and baggage claim, and that my under-lovelies and various other unmentionables and accoutrements are about to come streaming out onto the belt in a cotton/ latex/ lycra/ leather/ lube mess. it's not that i am embarassed or even ashamed that i might be travelling with an eighteen-inch, double-ended, pink, silicone dildo [who doesn't!?] or three cock rings of various sizes, thicknesses, and materials [like a scout, i am always prepared!] , but my fear is the comments i will have to endure:

"mommy, why does that man have three sling shots in his luggage?"

or

"i knew it, size thirty-four chaps!"

as well as my fear of having to cause a brouhaha fighting to get my things back from the more envious of passengers i just sat next to hurtling through time and space in a pressurised, titanium capsule.

luckily, it's never happened. to me, at least.

in the background::beautiful things:roxette