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.
9 hours ago