It’s another one of those nights where it’s just after–holy crap!–9 p.m. and I am just getting finished with those “must do” tasks and appointments and trying to tackle a few things around the house, but I needed to share how awesome my husband is. I realize I talk him up all the time (after all, he’s pretty central to my life) but tonight’s chivalry is most certainly worth an internet mention.
Tonight, I had to zip home as soon as I could after school to pick up Bernadette and take her for a 4:30 appointment with the vet. Proper medical care is essential to our foster dogs, who often have never seen a vet or been vaccinated before and often suffer from parasites. By the time we finished our bumper-to-bumper inspection, had shots, took wormer tablets hidden in wet food, and got the prescription for ear mite drops, I was very tight for time to make it to my 6 p.m. hair appointment.
I called The Electrician on the speaker phone to see if he could meet me at the hair place to swap vehicles, since there was no way I could drive Bernadette home and get back to the hairdresser on time. He met me at the appointed location, and left me his truck in exchange for my SUV, which had Bernie Girl tucked happily into the hatch, grinning away.
After my hair was trimmed and feeling flouncy, I took my exhausted butt home to get back into my Element, which was deep into the low fuel light by the time I did my running around after school. I knew that if I ran just one last errand, the one to make sure I could get to school and back tomorrow without running out of gas, I could go home and sit peacefully with my stack of essays and my flatulent dogs.
In our driveway, I climbed with a sigh back into my own driver’s seat, turned the key, and noted with great surprise that my fuel gauge–instead of teetering just a hair above “E”–now rested comfortably a little over “F.” After trading me vehicles, my sweet husband took himself and Bernadette on a mini road trip to the Petro Can and filled up my tank. As the only opposable thumb owner out of the two of them, clearly The Electrician is responsible for gassing up my car, even if Bernie Girl was there for moral support, and the thoughtfulness of that little gesture warmed me right to the toenails.
Today, like most other days, I’m reminded what a lucky woman I am to have this kind of partner. I love that fella something fierce.
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