We were watching The Simpsons, some episode about the bus driver, Otto, when my husband, through forkfuls of my delicious Tuna steak said, casually: “You know, in the 4th grade I invited our substitute bus driver over to my fort after school.”
Chortling on his young ideas about how camaraderie was formed, I managed to not spit up tuna into my napkin before asking, “So did he come?”
“He?” More tuna is snickered into his back molars. “SHE did not come, no.”
“You were such a player.” I noted, admiringly.
“I hollered the question at her from the back of the bus,” he mused, dreamily. “She was the step-daughter of our regular bus driver. She was a Pennsylvania girl – sturdy. She could have handled it.”
This is the man I married. I love literally everything about him.