I really hate flying. I hate everything about it. The short list includes:

* The shitty little bags of pretzels
* The chemical smell of the toilets
* The morons that refuse to check the baggage and slow the boarding process to a crawl as the park their fat asses in the aisle trying to shove stuff into the overheads. These same dumb-asses can’t grasp the concept of “wait until we reach the gate before standing up and pulling your shit back out.”

Air travel makes me resent people in wheelchairs…and old women on walkers…and children. Funerals and weddings of loved ones will get me on a plane again but it will be an act of duty and obligation. If I don’t look like I’m having fun when I get where I’m going it’s probably because I’m not.

Yes, Key West was warm and beautiful. And only a real party-pooper would complain about getting there and back. But the math doesn’t work for me. I need 100 hours of fun for every hour of travel time, and I never get it. And I never will. Let’s try this. I’ll spend a weekend on the beach with you for every weekend you spend sitting next to me while I surf the web. Come on, it’ll be fun.