Yesterday, I spent seven hours driving down to San Antonio, canning several hundred cans and pouches of food, and then driving back. Saying it was a long day would be a serious understatement.
I’d planned on Bart picking me up from the home of the family I’d driven down with, but they ended up dropping me off instead and, to my surprise, Bart wasn’t home when I came in with my boxes of flour, sugar, and whole wheat.
I called him to tell him I was home and that he didn’t need to worry about picking me up and, by the way, where was he?
He said he was at the store picking up something he’d forgotten (I’d made him a list of a few groceries we needed and he’d gone earlier in the day to buy them) but that he’d be home in a few minutes.
I saw him pull into the driveway and went to open the front door for him. He was just reaching for the door with one hand and had a dozen red roses in the other hand.
“I just thought you might want something nice after having spent your whole day in San Antonio. And would you like to go out to dinner?”
Obviously, I need to write more nice posts about Bart if this is the result.