Francisco is leaving tomorrow for a nine day trip to visit his family in the Dominican Republic. Given that he hasn't been there in over a year and a half, you would think a trip like this would bring him great joy and excitement. Not so with my dear man, alas, he is scared shitless. Literally, a walking catatonic.
He decided in the past few years that flying terrified him. I have also a tremendous fear of soaring the lofty skies, and I can't help but feel a tad resentful of his copycat anxiety that followed mine. I almost want to poke him and say "Hey! That's my phobia! Get your own!" But alas, I understand it, so I just pat him on the back and tell him everything is going to be fine.
Unfortunately for him, the nerves won't disappate with the landing. My husband is gravely uncomfortable in other people's houses, and the constant visiting he will have to undergo upon arriving in his home country is a source of constant worry. The custom for him is that you visit your family and you give them a (monetary) gift. Parting with our savings while sleeping in an unfamiliar bed in a hot, loud, mosquito laden netherland has Francisco in a total tizzy.
I cannot wait until he goes and comes back (alive) to tell the tale so I can stop walking into a room to see him staring at the wall with fear in his eyes. Poor man.