This weekend as Mr. Hobbitfeet and I were driving back from Home Depot we spotted a speeding car coming in the opposite direction headlights flashing, blue lights on the top and we thought "Police."
But then the car was passing by and it was a HUGE pick-up truck painted bright red with yellow flames. Mr. H. and I drove on for a second and both started laughing.
"Was that a police car?" I asked
"No," he laughed, "must have been a fire truck."
"But aren't fire truck lights red?"
"No, Liza," he snorted, barely able to talk, "it was a FIRE truck!"
And suddenly I was overcome with how much I love him, because stupid things like this are why I fell in love with him. I don't know if you could understand it, but it was just so Mr. H..
And these moments have been scarce lately because Mr. H. is making a real effort at quitting smoking and is mostly fluctuating between really crabby and hyper (when he's got his nicotine gum).
But there in the car, we were just us again.
14 hours ago