there's this thing...

We are pretending, the morning after this story takes place. Read on.

... this thing that we like to call "Chris and Kate Luck."

It seems to follow us around, and thusly, curse our luck in such a way that we really don't have much of it- luck, that is.

Let's hear about a story, shall we?  Just imagine this.

It's the day after Christmas.  Topher and I woke up early that morning to catch our flight down to Louisiana to be with my family for a few days.  It was to be loverly and joyful.  We were leaving a cold, windy (this wind is important to the story, just wait) District of home.

It was supposed to be an easy flight- a hop to Atlanta, a quick hour layover, and then a skip to Baton Rouge.  It seemed perfect, ideal, transcendent even.

Ah, the best laid plans..

The flight to Atlanta worked out well.  We made it safely and even a bit early.  We found our gate and settled in for a fast few minute chilling before we boarded next.  Some time for McDonald's fries (because it's a flying necessity, trust me.)

You can see where this is going, yes?

First, let me tell you, it was snowing in Atlanta.  It doesn't often snow in Atlanta, did you know?  I do believe, it must be true, that poor airport is not equipped for cold temperatures.  I'm even pretty sure it doesn't have heat- and if does, it hasn't been used since its creation.  And I, in my indignation, did develop cold tootsies.  It's not my fault that my flats don't lend themselves to cozy socks!  Luckily, a happy little airline employee did thus bring out thread worn blankets and I snuggled myself up, disgruntled because...

It wasn't too long until we began the happy joy of the age old game of watching our departure time get pushed back by minutes and hours.  Each time, we'd encroach upon our take off time, and they'd post a new departure time, an hour later.  It was the saddest game of cat and mouse, without a mouse to catch because the mouse plane hadn't even arrived!

This happened six times, until, six hours later, they informed us we were waiting on a flight crew.  When happily they did trudge down to our gate, what a chorus of applause they were greeted with! It was the homecoming of Spartacus, or the Prodigal Son, at least.

You thought that was the end, yes?  Oh, how wrong we are. And how right we really do wish we were.

Happiness did flood right through these veins when we finally came to our home for the week.  Countless (or seven) hours past our original time, twenty hours into being awake, we had landed.  Relief and hunger flowed freely, but weariness won out.  After happy hugs that we'd landed safely, we carried our bodies off to a happy cat-hairy bed and collapsed in.  It was officially a new day, time wise, and the scheduled wake up time for morning family coffee time (nevermind that I truly detest coffee- it's a tradition) was coming fast.

Wouldn't you know, not two hours later, my phone rang.  Hullo, who could this be?  I groggily shoved Topher and said "should I answer?"

"Hello, this is someone from your security system.  Your alarm is thusly going off, and happenstance it could be that a burglar is burglarizing your happy home."

Or something to that effect.

Groggy shoving became frantic shaking "OUR HOUSE IS BEING STOLEN!" I did then shout.

"Would you like us to call the vigilant police to check the home?"

"OF COURSE!" I declared.

Tense minutes, hours, dozens of phone calls, a K-9 unit and a sleepy grandmother arriving to secure our home later, we realized it.

In our dash to the airport, we set the alarm.

But we forgot to lock the door.

That howling wind we escaped narrowly from did actually break into our home.  Crazy like, that wind, but thankfully, it left our personal belongings thus alone for us to come home to, heads hanging in shame.

Nothing but Chris and Kate Luck could keep us to three hours of sleep in the happy holiday season.

Has the wind ever played such a nasty trick unto you?