The flight home was a smooth trip. I took a direct flight to New York instead of one with a layover in Charlotte. As I was walking to my Dad's car, I jokingly picked up a handful of snow and asked him, "what's this?" I finally did get to see
I visited Ryan again this evening, and he told me that his (17 year old) girlfriend asked him to the prom, an invitation which he accepted. This might seem normal until you consider the fact that this will be his fifth prom (1998, 1999, 2000, 2002, and now 2004). He's got some kind of magical charm that attracts high school girls, but women older than that seem to be unaffected. I cannot explain this.
Nor can I explain why I can simply go into a fast-food establishment in the New York area and order a burger, but I have to specify "no mustard" everywhere else I go. And yes, I do believe that everywhere else is screwed up, not New York. As Bruce Willis said in "The Whole Nine Yards," every red-blooded American knows that the only condiment you are ever supposed to put on a hamburger is ketchup!