I was on the New Jersey Turnpike at 4:15 this morning - not because I wanted to, but because I love my husband.
My husband's job requires him to travel about 30-40 percent of the time. Usually, the business trips are on the East Coast, so he drives his company car. But occasionally, he has a trip that requires him to fly. This time, it was Houston.
I was not a happy camper last night when he said "5:30," after I asked him what time his flight left.
"In the morning?" I questioned, already frowning my face.
"Yep. In the morning," he replied, knowing I don't like to roll over good before 9 a.m. (I have flexible work hours and usually get to the office around 10:30 a.m.)
"You couldn't have left today?" I asked.
"I could have, but the flight was twice as much and it had a layover. Going from Continental one hub to another Continental hub should not require a layover," he said.
I looked at him with my best version of puppy-dog eyes, tilted my head to the side and stuck out my bottom lip.
"I'll drive myself," he finally said.
"No, no. I'll take you. That's what a good wife does," I sarcastically said.
So, the alarm clock went off at 4 a.m. and we were out of the door by 4:15 a.m.
It was a quiet ride - there's not much to say at that insane hour.
We were at the airport by 4:45 a.m. and I was back at home and in bed by 5:15 a.m.
I love my husband, but next time, he's driving himself!
