I should be alarmed, but I'm not. Because (a) she's Lori from Random Ramblings of a SAHM and (b) I'm somewhere far more spectacular. More on this later today. But before she hurts me, I'm going to let her speak...
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Now, hold up. Before you get all shirty and start going "Who the hell are you and where the f**ck is Kristin?", just chill out. I have infiltrated this blog for the day to bring y'all some of my totally super awesome guest posting type stuff. OK? OK.
Now, given that our hostess with mostess was, it seems, born on entirely the wrong continent, and spends a good deal of her time plotting ways to get back to her soul country, Australia, it is mostly logical that a lot of you, her Followers, would be the travel-bug type.
Well hello there, travel buggees. I'm Lori. Your Anti-Christ.
Travel bug people, I have nothing against you, really. It's just that I don't understand you and your kin. I don't understand people who make small talk by asking,
"So, have you traveled?"
"Uh, no. I've been on a couple of driving holidays up the coast, but that's about it.".
Then they look at me pitifully and say something mundane along the lines of "Well, maybe one day."
As if I am missing on on some kind of singularly miraculous experience. I guess it's the same way I look at people who choose not to have children. Whatever.
You see, there are a few reasons I'm am not a sufferer of this morbid condition known as wanderlust(lust). I'm a comfort zone kinda girl. I'm happy to stretch my comfort zone every now and then, but it's more in the terms of learning a new magic trick, performing to a bigger audience, starting a new class in one thing or another. I'm happy to mentally jump from my comfy, cushion strewn mind couch.
But physically, I like to stay put.
And enter Big Reason I Don't Travel, number two.
I mean it. The thought of getting on a plane makes me break into a cold sweat. Even Magda doing star jumps in a cowboy hat can't entice me.
I hate to be the one to break this to you, travel buggers. But humans are just not meant to fly. If we were meant to fly, God would have given us wings or jet packs sticking out our bums or the power of levitation or something. Being that high in the air, in something that heavy, defies the natural laws of gravity.
No wonder it so often ends badly.
And this one hasn't even gotten off the ground yet..
I have actually left the safety of Australia once. By plane, obviously, boats freak me out even more than planes do. But I was five and it was at my mother's insistence. And we went to New Zealand. So I'm not sure that counts.
So while I'm sure it's lovely, getting lots of little stamps in your passport, eating sh*tty airline cardboard food and listening to screaming kids for 20 hours straight (not my screaming kids, they don't fly either), then being roughed up by beefy customs officials who may or may not plant some illicit drugs in your carry-on that lands you in an overcrowded squalor of a jail for the next twenty years; it just aint for me. My husband is disgusted. And I live with the pity of well traveled people.
But at least I will never experience the moment when the dreaded oxygen masks drop from the roof. And in a zen kinda way, I'm quite happy with that.
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