If I had a dollar for every time Big J asked me to join the Mile High Club with him, I’d be one rich ass woman .

Well, it happened. That’s right, you know me… The tigress! Hear me roar! Grrrrr!!!

OK, well, not really!  We are still not members of THE Mile High Club… or at least not the club you’re thinking of! If only, because I am too much of a chicken shit.

Oh my poor, sweet Big J… He still holds on to hope… Bless Him!

If you still believe in the authenticity of Milli Vanilli and are yet to join the rest of civilization, you may have never heard of the exclusive Mile High Club (but OMG… remember Blame It On The Rain? Loved it so so much! Am so downloading it, like, today!).  On the flip side, maybe some of you brazen perverts are members of the Club having snuck off with a lucky friend for a quickie in those nasty (nasty!!!) bathrooms. There’s also the Mile “HIGH” Club, where a little puff puff puff a la Bob Marley style is enjoyed… in the nasty (NASTY!!!) bathroom on a plane. Then there’s those brave, brave souls who have had a puff puff after a quick romp. Sweet Jeezuz, these peeps are Platinum members. They deserve a medal!

Anyhow… back to me! So we have landed in Florida and survived our first flight with the Little Orange Crush. Ugh…We’ve now officially become “those” people. Big J and I used to hate boarding a plane only to learn we were sitting anywhere near a child…”near” as in, on the same plane. And now here we are, subjecting poor innocent victims people to our untamed monkey, with no chance of escape… Funny how karma works, non?  How one night with one too many vodkas can really come back to bite you in the ass. Consider this your warning!

Anyways, so after miraculously checking in 18 tons worth of baby equipment, they somehow let us through Customs… “Yes Officer, I promise the white powder baggie is Formula for my baby.” Wink! Wink!

And from there, we embarked on one long ass journey. Oh, man… the days of getting drunk and passing out relaxing on a plane are over for Big J and me. We have entered the 7th circle of hell when it comes to travelling. Actually, on a side note, I’d like to take this opportunity to apologize to the old fart in front of us who had the misfortune of having his hair plugs pulled at for 3 hours straight. It wasn’t me… I promise! I’d have to be drunk to do something like that, and we have already established that I’m now a classy sober mom.

Other than my child trying to make hair extensions out of hair plugs, some orchestrated screaming and an epic explosion of the derrière (Huggies may want to rethink their brand promise of “24 hour protection”! And how about diapers that contain the contents of an epic explosion, eh Huggies? My Little Orange Crush turned into more of a little shit head for a bit!). Anyways, we are now proud members of a different kind of Mile Hi Club. And no, that wasn’t a typo… the Mile “HI” Club. Proud Mama that I am, my Little Orange Crush gave his first wave ‘hello’ on the plane to some lucky stewardess. I was so proud, I withdrew some of our retirement savings and celebrated with a $28 drop of wine.

Anyways, as elite members of The Club, we were given free – FREE – crayons! Membership does have its privileges, my friends! Unless you’re Big J that is, who still begs asks if I’ll join him in the back… only I notice there’s little to no hope left in him when he asks. I think our new reality is finally sinking in for my Big J… that the only “highs” in our lives now are blood pressure and debt. Welcome to the club, Honey!