So as we were riding home from the airport last night in the pouring rain, the taxi driver foolishly didn't say, "Yes" when Gailor said to him, "I'm just confirming: It's a $39 flat fee, right?"
Instead he said, "Plus the $4 airport tax and the tolls." The two of us do look like marks.
I knew he was in trouble when she said in her nicest voice, "That's funny. I thought 'flat fee' meant 'flat fee.'"
She may look like a sweet little thing, but he might as well have stepped on a cobra. I'm thinking to myself, Gailor, you've been traveling for 48 hours straight and who cares at this point?
I won't bore you with the details, except to say I began to wonder if he would make us get out halfway between O'Hare and Evanston in the rain and dark.
We ended up paying $39.
We woke up to a blizzard this morning, but now things are looking up after doing two loads of laundry. Look at the fun to-do list we are in the middle of today: ...
1) Get a manicure/pedicure.
2) Find a nice place for brunch.
3) Have a massage.
3) Drive to Passport Health to get the pills to treat schistosomiasis, as a precaution after falling in the Nile on a class 5 rapids whitewater rafting trip (and here I thought it was Global Immersion in Management), so the worms don't lodge in her liver and destroy it.
One Thing You Never Want to Hear Your Daughter Say as She's Sorting Through Her Laundry: "I wonder why this shirt has so much blood on it."
(Photos of "cow things" and offending marabou stork by Gailor. Well, my other choice was a photo of our brunch today at La Peep.)