Vanity, thy name is Chris

I'm checking out my Facebook news feed and I see this picture:

Underneath the picture in the comments section, I read:

            Erik Bard: Did ChrisZimmerman get a dog?

* * *

Intellectually I know that Erik knows that this is NOT a picture of ChrisZimmerman.  I know this because he is a friend of my daughter's and this is a picture of her.  Clearly he has NOT mistaken me for this stunning young woman.  Intellectually, I know this.

Emotionally, however, it's a different story. In my mind, I still look sixteen.  Every time I get a glimpse of myself in a mirror, it shocks me to see the me that others see.  Inside, I look like this picture of my daughter.  (Only I never wore shoes with heels so high that I had to climb a ladder to get into them.  How does she walk in those?) 

For a split second, I tricked myself into the thrill of thinking that someone else saw a glimpse of the "real me."  I'd like to take this opportunity to publicly thank Erik for that.  Thank-you, Erik!  (And no, this is not my dog.)

The next thing I knew, I was having this flashback to the late 1980's.  Jack, who must have been all of forty at the time, was telling us about his morning.  On the way to work, he decided to swing by McDonald's drive-thru for coffee. The worker at the window was twenty-something and she was flirting with him outrageously.  She was a cutie and he was quite flattered.  Then, as she was giving him his change back, she winked at him and said, "I gave you the senior's discount."

Airplane Rides

I don't like creepy airplane noises.  When the bell dings twice and the cabin stewards run up the aisle to the cockpit, intellectually I know that the captain probably only wants a cup of coffee, but I still get nervous.

My first airplane trip took place when I was eighteen years old. I was flying from Michigan to Texas and my parents were so worried about the transfer in Chicago that my father flew with me to O'Hare Airport then flew back home after he'd escorted me onto the proper flight.

From the start I have been a skittish passenger, but some years ago I found myself on a cross-country flight that was the scariest, most turbulent trip of my life. The plane was pitching and roiling and my stomach was churning. Every time we lurched, I got more frightened.  And then things deteriorated.  It was at that time I promised God that if he could only see his way clear to get me safely home to my babies, I would never fly again.  Never!  And I meant it, too. 

Time passed.  The kids grew up, our son moved out west, our daughter had our first grandchild up north and we moved down south.  Suddenly, not only am I flying, but I'm flying on tickets paid for by frequent flier miles.  Don't get me wrong, I still don't like creepy airplane noises and turbulence still makes me crazy scared, but when I get to choose between thirteen hours riding in the car and an hour and a half gliding through the sky, well, I'll pick the airplane every time.

I can almost hear God laughing.