In all your five years of existence, you have never been on a plane. You always went by car to Great Gramma’s farm in Missouri or to Gramma’s house in California. So, when Mommy says that we are going to Gramma’s house, you are expecting to go by car, sitting in the middle of the back seat of your dad’s black Mustang with the top down for hours. Daddy drives, stopping the car occasionally to go pee, get gas or …
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