Friday night means I don’t cook. I don’t care if you eat a box of macaroni and cheese or a bowl of cereal, I ain’t cookin’ it. Usually it is date night by default since the girls no longer care to join us for a night on the town, and this evening found us at our usual Friday night junction of decision:
W: “what you feel like eatin’?”
M: I don’t care, well except not BBQ (I have to throw that in or The Mister will always, always suggest BBQ!)
W: Let’s go to the truck stop. ( Folks the romance level in our house on a Friday night is off the charts)
M: Ok let me get fixed up( and I go throw on a pair of running shorts and my flip-flops, then swipe on Carmax for that glamor girl effect)
So just as we pull in to the truck stop, the Mister decides he would like to drive on up to Madison to his favorite…Ye Olde Colonial restaurant. I’m game, heck my shirt and shorts match so that qualifies for dressed up.
His ultimate plan is not so much the hamburger steak and gravy with rice and turnip greens, although I won’t argue it’s worth the drive, but more so to enjoy the 45 minute drive with me. You see, I am married to the guy that loves a drive, be it Sunday afternoon or Friday evening there is nothing he loves better than a drive.
So we make our way across the back roads to the next county. The summer sun is setting and we talk about everything…and nothing at all. Jason Aldean croons on channel 102.3 and I lean my head back. I close my eyes and think about how blessed I am on this Friday night.
“Did I tell you about that house I put gutters on today?” his words interrupt my thoughts and I welcome them.
“No, tell me about it…” and I listen for the next few minutes at not so much the words, but the warm cadence of his voice. It makes me feels happy, safe and I smile. This is my life….and I would not change one single thing. I slip my hand into his while he talks of deer and ponds, of plans and dreams. We remember there is ice cream cake in the freezer and head home. I’m glad we took the long way home.