As I was pulling up to the curb at the airport a security guard motioned to me. When I rolled down the window he asked, “Do you know you have a flat tire?”
I didn’t. I don’t know how as it couldn’t have been any flatter. So Paul, after 24, count them, 24 hours on planes and in airports got to spend one more hour in front of one changing a tire. Later, driving home, we both got a little testy. He said something he thought was benign and actually helpful. I heard it like a stick in the ear. After a bit I apologized for jumping down his throat.
At home I followed him into the bathroom as he washed the grease off his hands. “Let’s start over,” I said.
“That’s what I was going to suggest.” He pulled me into a hug.
And then somebody passed gas.
“Let’s start over now,” I said turning on the fan.
Reading this, Paul said, “‘Somebody’? Why don’t we be honest?”
But I wouldn’t want to embarrass him.