You know it’s real love when a fat girl willingly flies 5,000 miles. Twice a year. In coach. Alone.
Flying isn’t fun for anyone but for fat folks it’s basically a voluntary psychological ass-kicking. International flying ups the stakes with longer, packed flights, unfamiliar procedures, tight schedules, and stressed-out co-passengers. Prior to falling in love with my partner (who lived in London, UK while I lived in Oregon), I’d basically declared flying to be a no-go unless I could magically afford first class tickets to minimise stress.
If you’re not familiar, first class international tickets cost approximately TEN SQUILLION DOLLARS (plus tax) which is about 9.9999 SQUILLION more than most people have got. I literally DO NOT KNOW who flies in First Class? Who are those people?? WHERE DO THEY GET TEN SQUILLION DOLLARS FROM?? But anyway:
After my partner got her dream job in London, the chances of me talking her into coming back to Portland so I never had to fly anywhere dropped significantly. It was suck it up and fly in coach or wave goodbye to my favourite person on the planet. SO I sucked it up. And I flew. A LOT. And then I moved. And now I *still* have to fly a lot because all of the *other* people I love still live where I used to and so far none of them have agreed to move to a new country so I don’t have to fly anymore. Jerks.
I can say, though: Worth it. All of it. And London is beautiful.