You may recall that vsquared, skywalker, and I (my dad, my brother, and myself, respectively) are heading off on a road trip just after Christmas.
Dad would like it to be some driving off into the sunset, going where the road takes us, beholden to no man, kind of thing. Which I like the sound of, not least because I really have no idea how I did the same trip in three days last year. (I got a speeding ticket. I don't know if that's at all relevent.) Which is all well and good, except that ... the road is taking us to Melbourne. And also it's one of the most touristed stretches of road in Australia. But hey, I'm down with throwing cares to the wind and whatever else.
Until I got asked what had happened to all the planning I was supposed to be doing. Um, like that planning we were expressly forbidden to do? Yeah, that.
The trip, she is planned.
(I am totally not ripping on my dad, here. We are both completely on the same page, which is the one titled Plan Now, Rock Out Later, but also, I have to say, Giving Shit is in the Daughter job description, as is Plan The Perfect Road Trip While The Boys Bum Around At Home, so you know I can't help it. Any of it.)