What’s Wrong with a Little Water?

When I first started flying, I had my own personal pilot. My ex obtained his pilot’s license in the middle of our on-again-off-again relationship which meant free flights on the weekends to neighboring airports. It was fun to be able to hop on a plane and take off with no real destination in mind, no required hoops to jump through with TSA, and no hassle of what to pack for the trip; just grab a pair of sunglasses, a set of headphones (the aviation kind), and away we went.

London a.k.a The Home of Big Ben

Where to start… Obviously, I want to start at the beginning of my trip, but should I tell you guys about the obnoxious drive that took an extra 2 hours more than usual (almost 6 hours total) to get to my parents the night before the flight because of Spring Break traffic, or when I got my bunny man settled, he decided to chew on my mom’s 100 year old oak table like the naughty fuzzy-butt he is, or that I woke up at 5am the day of my flight hoping to exhaust myself by the evening so I would be able to sleep soundly on the plane (which didn’t happen)?