I was wrong.
I was wrong again.
I should really be getting used to it by now.
I'm a man. A husband. The lover of a lovely women who is bound to me (and I to her) through experiences, emotions, offspring and (I hate to be a bit crass) finances.
I should be able to handle it by now, but the (to Her) natural assumption that the fault is mine whenever there is a communication breakdown between us still gets me a bit upset.
Never mind, all will be well.
So I booked the short holiday to Melbourne on my "Electronic Mistress" last night. Again.
I almost had it booked two night ago, but just as I was going to push the button which would confirm all our holiday desires (and syphon large amounts of $$$ from my credit card) my beloved suddenly asked "Are you sure you want to go to Melbourne?"
"Would you rather go somewhere else?"
"Like Queenstown, or Gisbourne?"
So I backed out of all the complicated series of flights, buses and hotels I'd set up, and went to bed.
Last night I duplicated all of our bookings, and found the prices had gone up by about $200.
It is obviously my fault.
You would think I would learn.