My husband and daughter are amusement park freaks. The faster, higher and scarier the ride, the quicker they are lined up to experience it. Me, I hate the damn things. I like to keep my feet on the ground. I don’t feel the need to be catapulted into the air or experience the G-force the astronauts experience on takeoff. If I wanted to live that excitement, I would have signed up for NASA.
Despite my fear for these rides, I still go on them …well, I used to go on them. A few years back we were at this amusement park and my daughter and husband convinced me to go on this ride that looked fun to them but oh, so terrifying to me. Still, I sucked it up and agreed to go. After an hour in line, my mind had managed to work itself into a frenzy of panic, so I was not my usual calm self when I sat in my seat and pulled down my harness. And then I noticed something: my harness was different than my husband’s harness, and it was different from my daughter’s harness. I started to look around, and I saw that my harness was different from everyone else’s freaking harness.