Independence Day and All That Jazz

So, while the vast majority of folks in town have romped and stomped their way through Independence Day whilst sucking down suds and getting a head start on a lifetime of leathery skin and potential skin cancer, I spent it inside earning a paycheck.  Yay for gainful employment!  Did that sound sincere?  Somehow, I doubt it but I gave it my best shot.

Midway through the day, I paid a call to Himself who, lucky devil, was off and enjoying a homecooked meal with his folks and generally enjoying a childless day thanks to my folks.  The Grands had absconded with The Co-Defendants to parts unknown for a cousins reunion.  I’m hoping they’re not working on a case of heat stroke and food poisoning.  Time will tell.

At any rate, during the course of my call, Himself mentioned having something in store for me when I got home.  Now, let me just say when Himself gets an idea, it involves one of two things: sex or car shows.  He is that predictable.  I should bottle him and sell him as a laxative.  So, you can imagine the haste with which I drove home, being so giddy and all at the prospect of my ‘surprise’.  Not.

I got about half an hour to myself which, in mother-speak, means I cleaned two toilets and tossed a load into the washer.  Mine is such an eventful existence.  After that, we were in the truck and on the road headed to parts that, I feared, included rumbling engines and migraine inducing exhaust fumes.

Imagine my surprise when he turned into the local DQ and ordered me something scrumptious and chocolate (lactose intolerance be damned) and paid for it himself.  Something was afoot.  We headed out of town, me trying to figure out what the heck he was up to and him looking for all the world like a choir boy on Sunday morn.  We wound up at the lake and gazed upon the sweating masses as they barbequed themselves and some brisket under the blazing Texas sun.  Packed like sardines in a can.  Elbows to a**holes, as the redneck version goes.  Around and around he drove ’til I started to feel the full effects of the ice cream in my stomach swirl hither and yon thanks to the dips, twists and potholes in the lakeside roads.

Himself lamented his lack of binoculars as he’d spotted what he felt certain was a rare and wondrous creature down on the shore.

Aw, I replied, spotted the big-boobied coed, huh?

Nope, it’s the big-boobied bikini bird, he replied.

He had the nerve to smirk.  Perv.

Wonder where I’m going with this?  I’m getting there.  The story, like the car ride, takes some time.

So, we bid adieu to the glistening masses and headed out, back toward Casa Imperfect Life when he chimed up and said You don’t get it, do you?  It must have been apparent that I hadn’t the foggiest notion based on the look I gave him.

I’m recreating our first date…you know, the one we had on July 4th?  I could feel my eyes widening and my mouth doing that hanging open thing it does while my brain does it’s HOLY CRAP, SOMETIMES HE ASTOUNDS ME thing.  Isn’t that just the sweetest thing this side of ever?

You’re a peach, hon.  You really do remember stuff and all.  At which point, he asked that I not think so, thereby ruining his reputation as a thoughtless jerk.

Should I tell him our first date was really July 2nd and we ran into my ex-boyfriend who happened to be the brother of Himself’s ex-girlfriend?

I think not.

He’s a peach.

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