Crossed signals

I get my stellar directional skills from my dad. We're both wonders with a map. Take the time I spent two hours trying to find my way home from the DFW airport, for example. Several days ago, my dad told me he had a great deal on a ticket and was going to visit me for a couple of days. He would be flying into Mexico City. Puebla is a couple of hours away from D.F., and since his trip was so short, I decided I'd come pick him up. That way, we'd be able to spend a few more hours together and I wouldn't have to worry about him finding his way to me.

I left on time, a bit early even. I arrived at the airport in time. I waited where I said I would wait. For three hours. Just when I was considering calling my family in Texas to find out if my dad had actually left, my phone rang. It was a taxi driver, calling for someone named Mark. I asked to speak to him. My dad was waiting outside of my apartment in Puebla. "See you in two and a half hours," I told him.

OK, so maybe our communication skills aren't great, but we still had fun. We ate tacos Sunday night (about all we had time to do after our miscommunication), attended a wedding (an exciting experience for my dad), toured Puebla, and celebrated the 4th of July with my coworkers (which ended in a conga line and salsa dancing). Plus, I got to see the Mexico City airport one more time! Who wouldn't give up eight hours of his or her Sunday for a chance like that?