Every vacation, Gary does a little dance in which he threatens to be so important at work that he can’t go on vacation. I called his bluff last time.
So, this time? He just made me dance by looking at other options for getting to Fort Lauderdale in case the Perfect Ice Storm of Aught Seven traps us in the Midwest and we miss our cruise.
Actually, I danced right along with him. And to be fair, I insisted he pull some of the weight of rescheduling and stop making me his assistant. In the end, the point was moot because all fights out are booked.
At any rate, now I am paying closer attention to what residents of Kansas say than to the Weather Channel, KMOV, and the voices of doom in Gary’s head.