Flying to and from Michigan soon.  So excited to see everyone.

HOWEVER, my rock (and personal handler), my husband Bill, won’t be going with me.

That’s right, this fat old lady is going to be flying solo.

I admit I’m a little nervous about COVID-19 and the variants, even though I am fully vaxxed and will be wearing a mask at the airport and on the plane and anywhere else I don’t feel safe.

I’m not worried at all about flying.  I like flying, for the most part.  Don’t have to worry about pissy seatmates – at least not too much.  Flying First Class (note – always check out the prices on Delta for first class- they are often cheaper than buying that extra seat; and get yourself a “miles account” – best way to use those miles is not a free trip (there are always a gazillion limits) – use them to upgrade to First Class); and while I have run into people who can’t believe fat people fly first class (telling me when waiting in line that I should move out of her way– fuck you, you old whore); First Class seats are a little more spacious and totally separated so there is no issue with fat spillage or the battle of the arm rest. 

But what I am worried about is getting from gate to gate without Bill.  He volunteers to carry any carryon for me which is a big help schlepping from gate to gate.  Also, I am in pretty lousy physical shape right now.  With my back spasming for about 3 months and getting surgery for breast cancer, and doing radiation therapy – this fat old lady’s ass is definitely hanging at half-mast. 

My back got mostly better (only had 3 spasms so far today – from coughs and sneezes) and I am doing the (super easy) exercises the physical therapist gave me; but I simply have not been able to do much in the way of exercise for a long time.  (Every time I try, my back gets worse so I have become terrified of trying anything.) 

And “running” (okay limping and/or shuffling) or anything that is going to cause boobage bouncing is just not an option.  My poor old battered boob has been through enough, thank you.

So what’s a huff-ed and puff-ed fat old lady to do?  Those gates can be really far apart and any delays can make the time between flights alarmingly short. 

You arrange for wheelchair assistance between gates.  That’s what you do. 

I have no problem being pushed or dragged (or however they want to get me between my gates) around the airport.  I will be happy to lead the parade through the airport (where did I put my baton?). 

As you are probably aware by now, I really don’t care what other people think. 

Fuck you.  I’ve had 2 really rotten years and I need this. 

Even if I didn’t have a couple of rotten years, if I need it, I need it; and somebody else’s opinion is not going to stop me from getting safely, sanely (well mostly sanely) and timely to my flights.