Ferry Landing
Dang has this been fun! I realized I needs me some more stories. So last time, JJ and the locksmith were approaching the boat:
Thankfully JJ left the man's collar alone, and I met them at the car. In two seconds the poor, harassed locksmith had the door open. It took longer than that to write the check. Not so poor locksmith after all! But I digress. So finally I was able to get off the boat, but I think I recall making JJ drive. JJ’s reaction to getting in the car was: “We got into the car and turned on the air. Sweet air.”
By this time it was getting late in the afternoon, we were hot, tired, and hungry, and about sixty dollars poorer. Plus a little seasick, what with one thing and another. As soon as we were off the island, and this is what kills me, JJ turned to me and said:
“Honey, I’m so sorry you had to go through all that.”
I was waiting for the disappointment, the frustration, the “I’m never letting you drive again” reaction. And while I’m bracing for it, ready to hear all evening about what a doofus I am, he’s hugging me and expressing his sympathy, worried about how I feel after five (FIVE!) trips on this godforsaken ferry boat. A short way up the interstate was a Cracker Barrel, and with money we didn’t really have, JJ offered to take me to dinner there. Food never tasted so good, WATER never tasted so good as after that ordeal. The whole evening he never blamed me or fussed or made me feel bad.
But such is the man I married. All that frustration and worry, and he’s being all solicitous about me.
All of which goes to show, upon reflection, that I really should have expected what came next; that he’d turn it into a party routine. I was off the hook that day, yes, but I’ve been paying for it for ten years since in every social situation. But that’s okay. I’ve got stuff on him that,… well, crap. Nothing tops that. I got nuthin’. Except to say, it wasn’t ME that thought jeans and hiking boots were beachwear.
Thankfully JJ left the man's collar alone, and I met them at the car. In two seconds the poor, harassed locksmith had the door open. It took longer than that to write the check. Not so poor locksmith after all! But I digress. So finally I was able to get off the boat, but I think I recall making JJ drive. JJ’s reaction to getting in the car was: “We got into the car and turned on the air. Sweet air.”
By this time it was getting late in the afternoon, we were hot, tired, and hungry, and about sixty dollars poorer. Plus a little seasick, what with one thing and another. As soon as we were off the island, and this is what kills me, JJ turned to me and said:
“Honey, I’m so sorry you had to go through all that.”
I was waiting for the disappointment, the frustration, the “I’m never letting you drive again” reaction. And while I’m bracing for it, ready to hear all evening about what a doofus I am, he’s hugging me and expressing his sympathy, worried about how I feel after five (FIVE!) trips on this godforsaken ferry boat. A short way up the interstate was a Cracker Barrel, and with money we didn’t really have, JJ offered to take me to dinner there. Food never tasted so good, WATER never tasted so good as after that ordeal. The whole evening he never blamed me or fussed or made me feel bad.
But such is the man I married. All that frustration and worry, and he’s being all solicitous about me.
All of which goes to show, upon reflection, that I really should have expected what came next; that he’d turn it into a party routine. I was off the hook that day, yes, but I’ve been paying for it for ten years since in every social situation. But that’s okay. I’ve got stuff on him that,… well, crap. Nothing tops that. I got nuthin’. Except to say, it wasn’t ME that thought jeans and hiking boots were beachwear.
posted by Fishie @ 2:11 PM
4 Comments:
"and tehy lived happilee ever affer. teh end" :o)
wut a sweet way foar jj tu end teh day! dat's a grate storee, Fishie! an iz onlee teh first week ov november! i luks foarward tu moar! mai kittehs say "hi!" an tehy luvs teh picktures.
lol
GREAT story! And who cares who the punchline is - a good story is a good story; you've got the backbone for it, I can tell!
Aw, what a great ending! As for milking it for the rest of your lives . . . well . . . yeah.
Love it!
And it is a great story so well worth JJ re-telling again and again and again.
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