Other than the fact that it's a great way to get free peanuts, air travel is actually the worst.

To begin with, you have to stand in a TSA line for as long as it takes average person to learn Mandarin Chinese. When you take off, the flight attendants get so close to your face it's as if they're about to give you a passionate kiss as ask you if your seat is in the upright position and your electronic devices are off. I'm sorry, but I don't think playing Cooking Fever while we take off is going to send us plummeting.

During the flight, the temperature is either Sahara Desert or arctic tundra. No in between. If you're hot, you get to adjust the ac unit like twisting a cap off a water bottle until you get just the perfect amount of "air." If you're cold and you're lucky enough to get a complimentary airplane blanket you will find it is equivalent to a paper towel from the bathroom.

Speaking of the bathroom, I'm sorry, but I don't like to use the restroom in a space the size of a small wastebasket. I feel like I need to be one of the children from "Honey I Shrunk the Kids" just to fit. Also, the flushing is scary and startling. I am aware that I have just flushed the toilet there no need to alarm me and those sitting around the restrooms. We get it. When you walk out of the restroom, without fail, there is always someone waiting outside. You have to lightly brush up against them like you're doing a romantic tango as they squeeze past you. It's very unsettling for all parties involved.

The refreshments are about as accommodating as the temperature. The drinks come in cups that are meant for dipping sauces at parties not for beverages. And if you sit at the end of the plane like my frugal mother always makes me, by the time they roll the drink cart towards you, you're already at baggage claim.

If you ever have the utter joy of sitting in the emergency row, prepare for the instructional speech of your life. Thanks for telling me how to open the emergency latch, but I'm pretty sure I'll be in the middle of the cabin screaming, "Why?!" before I have time to remember that I'm supposed to attach my own oxygen mask before the children's.

Maybe I just have so much anxiety there is always visible fear in my eyes, or maybe I'm the only person with a healthy amount of worry on the plane. Why does no one else look as petrified as me when we hit turbulence? You can tell yourself we're "going through the clouds" as much as you'd like, but don't pretend you're not subconsciously preparing for what you would do if you crashed on the "LOST" island.

If you've never slept on a plane and want to know what it's like, find the closest steep hill covered in jagged rocks , lay your head down, curl up into a cozy little ball, and let the sweet dreams commence! If you're not awakened by the seatbelt light turning on, dinging loud enough to break the sound barrier, you'll be jolted awake by giggling children or the people behind you who decided to "get to know each other." And to the kids who won't shut their shade the whole flight: spoiler alert — it's clouds. Every. Time.

We all hate the crying baby on the plane but deep down, we all are that crying baby. We want desperately to be freed from the dimly-lit, mechanical bird of death.