So, I went flying. I am one who flies.

Happy Birthday to ME!

I would have to say that a highlight of the birthday celebrations (bwah! highlight!!!) was the plane ride. A friend of mine has a pilot’s license, so he flew down from Rexburg with some other guys for Labor Day. Since it was my birthday and therefore the world must and does revolve around me, he took me flying.

Now, it’s not that I’ve never flown before. I’ve actually achieved Silver Medallion status because of the many thousands and thousands of miles I’ve spent wedged into dander-infested airline upholstery, breathing other people’s recycled air and watching (or not, as the case may be) quality films like Legally Blonde 2. I had to put a massage therapist on retainer to get the airline abuse out of my neck—and then had to stop using her, not because she was a lesbian and kept telling me about the times when she used to be LDS and did things like go on a mission, but because she raised her prices, so I can’t afford her any more. I’ve even (sit down for this) been upgraded to first class a couple of times, where I tried to remember my roots by smiling kindly at the people being herded past my nice leather seat on their way back to coach. But I probably just glared at them, since they were the unwashed rabble preventing my own personal flight attendant from getting me my orange juice and warm towels the second I requested them. It’s sick what power does to you.

Anyway, point. While I have most certainly been in many forms of aircraft, up to and including military cargo planes (don’t ask), I had never before been in one of those cool small private planes with the propeller and everything. But now I have! The weather was clear and gorgeous, and we flew up through Provo Canyon and over Deer Creek before turning around and heading back. I saw my apartment and the fall leaves and the back of Mt. Timpanogos, with its, ahem, “glacier.” I took pictures so that I could capture the beauty and wonder of the moment, but also so that I could brag. I almost got to use the controls, but it got kind of bumpy, so Flyboy decided that wasn’t a good idea. And I could accept that, because I didn’t want to actually crash an airplane on my birthday and become some tragic John Denver-type figure.

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