Sean’s flight from Denver to Minneapolis-Saint Paul was delayed, as if that surprised any of us. Practically every trip he makes to our neck of the woods starts with a telephone call from Denver International Airport that begins, “My flight’s been delayed …”
“I’m never flying anywhere with that boy,” My Darling B declared as we were on our way to the airport. “He’s an air travel jinx, is what he is.”
At least he’s not trying to connect through Chicago any longer. An immutable law of physics bends time and space every time he’s arrives at the O’Hare terminal. Last time, his flight was delayed and he arrived some time after midnight. Rather than spend the night at O’Hare, though, he gave some guy a couple hundred bucks to borrow the guy’s car and he drove himself up here. He’s resourceful, I’ll give him that. Cursed, but resourceful.
Last night’s delay wasn’t nearly as bad. He finally arrived at about ten-thirty and we whisked him back to Our Humble O’Bode with no other interfering snafus, so he was safely in bed at a decent hour. He’ll have a week to visit with us in which he won’t have to worry at all about his next delayed flight until next Tuesday.