The Airman is 28 tomorrow.
So is Epcot.
It is the anniversary of the Chicago Tylenol killings.
Sony CDs share this birthday, too.
Yeppers. A stellar historical day!
To celebrate, I am going to see the Airman while the Mister keeps the home fires burning. I am flying. Pray for the people on the plane. Did I mention I don't fly well?
Twelve years ago I took the Airman to England backpacking for three weeks for his 16th birthday (yes, we were still speaking when we got home).
You know it is going to be a bad flight when the plane can't make the concourse and you have to go to it on a bus.
And you have to sit on the tarmac for an hour.
And the pilot says, after the plane suddenly drops eight million feet, "Uh, ladies and gentlemen; please put on your seatbelts. We are going to try to make Charlotte in less time than scheduled. We have a little problem with the plane."
And then, when you are ready to land, two hours early (??), you are told to assume "impact positions."
And when you land you hear a remarkable crack and then nothing.
And then you see your son's hand in the air, three rows over, finger spelling his favorite swear word at the time.
And then you hear a thud!
Because another plane has backed into you.
Yah. I am super excited!
Have a good weekend everyone!