Be careful with your Italian sports car around small aircraft.
Santa Cruz, CA, is a weird place. Here is some prose to contemplate.
When in doubt, place a stuffed police officer in your hedge. Then get a visit from brusque officials.
Jenn and I were on vacation last week. We got back home last night at 2330, approximately 2 hours late.
This is all Tom’s fault.
We briefly stopped by Tom and Steph’s house because they happened to be near the airport and we had not seen them for a while. Tom asked whether we’d been experiencing any flight delays recently during our travels. I responded no, we hadn’t really, and any delays that were hitting us weren’t really important because we’ve been taking direct flights.
At the time, I thought to myself, “Oh great. Tom said the “d” word, and we’re about due for our share of airport congestion after all the easy traveling we’ve had.” I remonstrated myself for that because, like saying “shutout” during a game, it’s all superstition with no effect on life (or the game), and our odds of experiencing delays don’t change because we’ve had a lucky streak. Dice have no memory.
It’s still Tom’s fault, though.