She went to the airport to pick him up. He’d been away for a week at a conference. He returned unscathed. His luggage did not return at all. After questions and explanations, and more questions and report filing and more questions and more report filing, they left the airport.
He, driving out of the airport parking garage: “Where would you like to go to eat?”
She: “I will let you choose. You are the one who just subjected your tummy to a six hour flight and a time change. I am fine and can eat just about anything.”
He: “How about Island Burger?”
She: “Sure. Fine with me.” But she wonders why he chose there when it is in the wrong direction from home. “Are you wanting to stop at your office?”
He: “Not really. I’d like to get some rest first.”
She: “Well, then why Island Burger? Don’t tell me that you spent a whole week in SF longing to come home to your favorite burger shop?”
He: “No. I had some good food in SF. We didn’t go anywhere really memorable, but I had no reason to complain. I’m just in the mood for plain food. Island Burger sounds like what my stomach can handle.”
She: “Then you’re going the wrong way.”
He, looking around, “Wha-? Huh? Wha-?”
She: “We need to go back to the airport.”
He, obviously confused, “Why?!”
She, patiently: “Because, Honey. You said you wanted plane food. The only place I know to get that is at the airport.”
He nods his head and taps his fingers on the steering wheel (yes, while he’s driving).
She sees a smile fight through his defenses and curve his lips. She snuggles close, rubs her cheek on his shoulder and queries, “Did you miss me, Honey?”
Finally, He laughs.