So this past weekend I payed a not insubstantial sum of money to hop a direct flight through sunny skies in place of a flight connecting through La Guardia (aka Timbuktu) in the middle of a giant Nor'easter.
Part of me thinks this is the top of the slippery slope: my fears are beginning to twist, like a wet washcloth, my actions, and my world will be forever warped. I probably spent 1.5 days of work on the escapade, if time is money -which, by our strange calculus, it mostly is. 1.5 days isn't a week, but when you work only 90 days a year, it's not inconsequential.
The rest of me thinks: Nor'easters are for suckers.