I have a fear of Ferris wheels, or giant wheels as I call them. I have no fear of heights and not of motion, but team them together in a stomach-churning contraption that seems intent on hurling you from the highest possible point on its path, and you have my Achilles’ heel.
I have only been on a giant wheel twice before. The first time, as a kid, I puked for a week after. The second, in a show of bravado, to impress my girlfriend. She was not impressed with someone so afraid to breathe he almost passed out.
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