Ever have a conversation with your better half begin,"Do you remember how well I skied the week before our wedding? Well, I think I should try it again."
"What's 12 years?", I said.
We are planning a road trip. There is a first rate production of Annie scheduled in Topeka, Kansas next week, and I'd like to see it, especially since Annie is my darling granddaughter.
While organizing our adventure, I was presented a convoluted plan that included racing home after the play so that Mrs. T's second born, who lives in Wisconsin, and is moving to Denver, could drive to Mayberry, pick his mother up and whisk her away to Denver to help him get settled.
I suggested that since Topeka was almost half way, why don't we simply continue our drive together to Denver. Without the detour #2 kid saves several hundred miles of driving, and we needn't hurry. I also reminded Mrs. T that my first born, who also lives in Denver, is having a birthday while we are there. That's when the normal voice of reason in our family mentioned skiing.
I envision Thanksgiving dinner in a hospital cafeteria.