Talking about this fiasco that was my plans for vacation.
Him: They all seem so unreliable.
Me: They kind of are.
Him: Not me.
Me: No, not you. You're very reliable.
Him: I am! You know what my nickname was in sixth grade Pop Warner football?
Me: What?
Him: Guess! Guess what they called me, because I am so reliable.
Me: Steady?
Him: Mr. Reliable! That's me. I am Mister Reliable.
The vacation plans have firmed up into what CanadaDave described as a nice plot for a sitcom. There is a promise of hijinks ensuing in just two days.
One more work day! Then I go on vacation for seven work days! And my stress level is no longer officially off the charts. You could ask me if I'm packed, but that's not the sort of thinking that allows my bloodpressure to remain normal. You could ask me if I am confident that I have all my bases covered at work, but again, not the right sort of questioning.
Asking me if I know how I am getting from Airport A to Airport B and vaguely what will be happening during the ten days in between while I travel through four time zones and a bazillion states.... that's the sort of question I am now qualified to answer.
