Going home

My husband was picking me up from work the other night and as usual he called when he was at the end of the expressway. Thus allowing me enough time to either a.) call the elevator to the 10th floor, ride it down to the 2nd, then take the escalator to the first floor or b.) climb 6 flights to the 12th floor, call the elevator and take it directly to the 1st floor. Don’t even get me started as to way I cannot access the first floor from the main bank of elevators; the short story is it is called progress…

Anyway, I was doing my usual trek to exit the building and as I reached the doors I saw the truck and what I believed was the husband. As I got closer I realized that yes it looked like our truck, but the 2 passengers inside where definitely not the husband and I thought to myself that maybe he had been carjacked and that the thugs were being nice and picking me up. Then I scanned up the street and saw another truck that looked like ours and as I slowly approached it from the rear I cursed myself for not knowing the license plate number. Instead, I walked behind the truck and nonchalantly peaked in the windows to insure that the driver was my husband. When I got in he laughed and said he was hoping I would try to get in the other truck. That’s when I realized that my husband sucks!