>And You Think YOU Have Travel Anxiety

>Honestly, I wasn’t the least bit surprised when I came down with that horrid sore throat a few days ago. Because tomorrow, I’m going on a trip. Which means, in my world, that I am required to get sick about a week beforehand. Last summer, for example, I came down with a four-day stomach bug, five days before BlogHer. The good news was that I dropped about five pounds in as many days.

The bad news was that after four days of being able to keep nothing down, my gastrointestinal system wasn’t exactly where it should have been on the day I traveled to San Francisco. Feeling queasy, I opted to eat next to nothing. But even the half-bagel I allowed myself shortly before boarding my first flight gave me “issues”– issues I noticed about 15 minutes after the plane took off.

I won’t go into detail. It’s not ladylike. Let’s just say I was forced to stare incredulously at the old man beside me and then fan my face furiously with an airline magazine while gasping for breath and making eye contact with everyone around me.

Yes, it was unfair, but I couldn’t risk anyone thinking that the horrid stench filling the air was due to me. I don’t know if I’ve ever told you all this before, but I don’t have gas. No, I don’t! Not ever! It’s how I was raised!

Anyway, the rest of the trip proceeded in this manner. Whomever happened to be nearest to me during an “episode” got my wide-eyed stare, my nose crinkle, and my furious face fanning. Unfortunately, Carmen was the victim of this charade during the second leg of the flight, after she was unlucky enough to run into me as we were waiting to board.

Sorry, Carmen, but there’s a flight attendant out there who will probably ask to switch planes if she ever sees you boarding again.

So. Once we arrived in San Francisco, I called Chris, who’d already been there a few days, and then I went up to see her and Susan in their room. Karen Walrond was there, too, and so was Danielle, whom I met that day for the first time. It was an intimidating group. These women were stylish and gorgeous to the extreme, and Chris and Susan had already spent an entire day shopping in San Francisco, so they were even more well-outfitted than usual.

Suffice it to say, I did everything in my power at that moment to contain myself.

Fortunately, within a few minutes, someone suggested we all go shopping. Breathing a sigh of relief, I left with them (pausing for just a moment in the doorway of their room before closing the door firmly behind me) and we proceeded to walk merrily down the sidewalks of San Francisco, where I could “not fart” to my heart’s content. And then we came to that black hole of boutiques, Anthropologie, where we were sucked helplessly into its gigantic, boho-adorned maw.

The other ladies flitted about the store from rack to rack, and I tried to flit with them, but at some point I realized I needed a moment to myself. There was so much flitting, though, that I had a hard time finding an empty spot to collect my thoughts. In desperation, I searched until I found the most godforsaken corner of the store, with the ugliest clothes. I paused there, humming a bit as I thumbed through a few sizes. Within seconds, my little corner was hazmat suitable. It was time for me to go.

And that’s when I saw Danielle headed toward me, with a determined gleam in her eye.

“Oooh,” she said, fixing my gaze with her own. “What are you looking at there?”

“Uh, nothing!” I gasped. “It’s all horrible.”

It was the worst thing I could have said. In Anthropologieze, a woman saying, “It’s all horrible,” is actually code for, “This is the best deal here, bitch, and it’s mine.” Danielle pushed past me to see exactly what I was trying to hide.

“Uh…” I said, trying to come up with something. Anything. “I saw some homeless guy peeing on the floor, er…” Danielle stopped short, sniffing. “Bye!” I finished, and fled.

Let’s just say Danielle didn’t last long in that corner. And afterward, she wouldn’t make eye contact with me. And the next night, when we were both reading posts during BlogHer’s keynote speech, she pretended not to know me. I am totally serious. That’s how bad it was. Er. Wasn’t.

Since I don’t have gas and all. Ever.

Anyway, this is the memory that keeps coming to mind as I prepare now to head tomorrow to Mom 2.0 in Houston. Lisa will be there. And Isabel. And Guy. And my roommate, Yvonne. While I’m not recovering from a stomach bug this time, I am plagued by the old tickle-in-the-throat thing that often comes at the end of a cold. It’s the kind of tickle that makes me cough so quickly and furiously in response that tears spring to my eyes. Last night, I actually dry heaved on the third cough.

I’m a little concerned, given my history, that someone, somewhere, at Mom 2.0 will become another victim of one of my episodes. But they don’t have to worry too much about the dry heaving… I don’t puke. Ever.

It’s how I was raised.