Yes, the fambily is heading on a big junket across the eastern seaboard of these United States. It is sure to be disastrous, but thus far we can only guess as to exactly which iceberg will do us in.
Will it be that, somehow, despite all the promises to the contrary, we have even more luggage with us than we had the last time, and which caused us a great deal of trouble trying to get a larger rental car at the Hartford airport at midnight when it would not fit?
Will it be that three out of the four of us are sick with colds? (I'm the one who is OK. Thank you for your concern.)
Will it be that we miss our connection in Chicago, which happens to be the last flight out tonight?
I don't know. I just know that disaster looms. These trips always entail disaster.
I've decided to implement a magic word that when said, means we must stop fighting and act happy. I think I can do that, as I am a paragon of self-control. I have not yet broken this news to the fambily - the news of the secret word, not the news of my legendary self-control. That, they know all too well. I have chosen the word, "artichoke."
I hope we don't happen to have stumbled upon the artichoke festival.
We're sitting in the truck right now, waiting for HannahC to get out of school. We left way early, cuz The Mrs. was out of her mind stir crazy to get going. Been sitting here 20 minutes already.
I'm writing this on my new Droid Maxx. It's hard to blog with no keyboard. Oh, here comes HannahC.
Off to the airport we go.