It was dark by the time my flight landed in Denver. I was excited to see Brock, show him my treasures from New York and sleep in our sacred marriage bed. After talking to my husband via travel phone for a good portion of my drive home from the airport, I announced that I was approximately 15 minutes away and reluctantly hung up. I was travel weary, but feeling re-energized as I heard the familiar sound of my tires crunch on the gravel of our driveway. Add to that the standard high pitched excited yips of Red Dog, who convulsed at my door like an epileptic monkey, and I was awash in wistful homey goo. Red Dog was so loud that I feared her enthusiastic barking would wake my sleeping children. I shushed her and looked at the house, where through the picture window I could see my gorgeous husband, sitting in my favorite chair, Eleanor (yes, I name my furniture) and I sighed with relief.
Then I gathered my purse and reached down to pat my faithful Red Dog. When I stood up, I looked again at the house, and there, still in my chair, was my husband, staring at the TV with his mouth slightly agape. As I schlepped my 50 plus pounds luggage over the wretched pea gravel, I looked again through the window at my deaf, oblivious husband who had parked his ass in my chair. MY CHAIR! And I have seen those Western Movies that he watches- they aren't THAT engaging. And then I realized that it was dark outside. Very dark. Not just evening time dark, but no-porch-light dark. Because the inconsiderate man that I publicly declared my love for couldn't even muster up concern for my well-being by turning on a damn light for me. And as I struggled with obscenely heavy bags, unstable footing and pitch ass black, I knew what was going to happen next. I reached for the door handle and my premontition was confirmed. The fucking door was LOCKED.
So I did what any jet lagged delicate flower would do. I kicked the door as hard as I could with my cowboy boot clad foot. When my Prince Charming, whom I hadn't seen in five days, finally got off his unconscious butt to let me in, I glared at him and said, "Thanks for being so thoughtful. I bought you a fucking tee-shirt, and if it weren't such a pain in the ass to get to New York, I would totally return that shit."
And from my hand he took my suitcase that I had just hauled across the driveway and said, "Wow! This is heavy!"
And as I glared and grunted at him, I tripped on a toy truck that was in the middle of the floor, for, indeed, I was home. Back to reality.
Naturally, every day since has been sheer, non-humid magic!