Backfilling

Now you know that I love The Husband to bits and he is generally off limits on my blog, but sorry Babe, this was such a doozy.
I've had my Dad and his partner to stay from NZ.  He is a nervous traveller.  (pause).
So I'm taking him to the airport on Friday, he's been reluctantly convinced by all our daughterly persuasion to actually take a domestic flight from Sydney to Brisbane where my Sister lives.  This makes it sound like a spur of the moment thing.  HARDLY.  "Spur of the moment" doesn't feature in my dad's vocabulary (where was the part about my father being off limits on my blog too - what happened to that rule?).  We go to check in along with about a zillion Schoolies making their way to the Gold Coast.  My Dad grieves for the days when we used to have air tickets, ticketless flying doesn't sit well with him.  Nor did the online checkin I'd done for them the night before.  We finally make it to the front of the bag drop queue to be told the flight had been cancelled.  And the airline would happily refund their money.  Or they could fly to the Gold Coast (along with the Schoolies) then catch a bus to Brisbane (in peak hour traffic).  If Dad had a speech bubble out the side of his head it would have read something like this "I am never, ever, EVER flying domestically in Australia again.  I would rather do two international flights" or "those bloody girls forcing me into this" or even "Sydney airport is completely to blame", but more likely "it's so much easier to just stay home".
Anyhow, with a bit of huffing and puffing and assertive "look mate'ing" to the poor airline guy by me, it transpired that because we checked in the night before, we were sweet as. They made it onto their plane with only a leisurely hours delay.
Not so for me however, as I manically battled peak hour school traffic to drive back from the airport.  And thankfully I'd arranged a pickup from school for the boys or else the boys would have been sifting aimlessly around school for 45 minutes until I got there.
So that night, I was waiting expectantly for The Husband to get home so I could regale him of my trauma.
The Husband works in a different faster paced world to the one I live. His is all about "what by when" and "cut to the chase".  I know this because I used to work for with him and I know how he operates.
I have told him about how he talks to me like I am staff (unpaid at that), and that part of loving me means he has to listen to my blather.
And I talk like I write, I set the scene, I build to a climax, I hit you with my punchline, I relax into my conclusion.
And so when he got in the door after a busy, stressful day, he said "did your dad get away alright?".  I started to set the scene....
And that's when he hit me with it.
"Just tell me if he got away, ok!  Then back fill"

Backfill?
I don't do backfilling.