I Solemnly Swear I Am Up To No Good

Let's start this story up on the twenty-sixth day of August, which, for those of you who didn't just check your calendars, i.e. all of you, was a Friday. Two Fridays ago, to be precise. I'm at home in Newport Beach on this particular Friday. In my room, again, to be precise. My dad walks up the stairs, hangs a quick pair of rights, and starts talking to me.

"So you know how we're supposed to fly out on Sunday?" he says. I am, of course, paraphrasing.
"Yup."
"And you know how the plan was to go from Long Beach to JFK (That's in NYC, Jason.) to Burlington?"
"Yup."
"And you know how there's a hurricane going on back east?"
"Yup."
"Well, we've had to rearrange our flights."
"And . . ."
"We're still flying out on Sunday from Long Beach, but we go to Orlando via Austin, spend a night in Florida, and fly up the coast to Burlington Monday afternoon."
"So what you're saying is we've got an entire morning in Orlando."
"Derek, why are you smiling?"