Image: flight-airport-airplane-plane-34631 pixel photo
It was the last day of our holiday. We needed to be packed and out the door early to catch our flight home.
Joyce, my aged companion, was not happy. The holiday in Morgue had exceeded all her expectations, and she felt there was more to see if only we had the time.
The night before she had poured over her photos reminiscing over this place and that recalling the numerous adventures we’d had.
So on the day of our departure, she was a reluctant participant delaying her final packing until the last minute.
I kept saying she had best hurry, as we didn’t want to arrive and find we’d missed our flight.
She dragged her feet the entire time, and when we eventually made it into the taxi to the airport I was concerned there might be heavy traffic.
As it turned out, we were delayed, and at the airport, we made a frantic rush to the check-in counter only to discover our flight was closed.
Joyce not to be put off quickly organised another flight. She had a way of getting her way with most people, booking clerks in particular.