Most people who travel for Fortune 500 companies see exotic places and stay in luxurious hotels. I’m stuck in Fresno in a Holiday Express. My expense account is limited — my retired husband is my chauffeur in an economy rental car. The last time I saw a door open on a car this small twelve men in big shoes and red noses climbed out.
We left home at four in the morning yesterday. I brought a pillow and blanket, but no sleep for me. Out of the fog, my husband, the reporter, is providing a “no frills, no charge” billboard by billboard travelogue — “there’s a Wendy’s”, “oh, look, the Golden Arches”, and “Apple Annie’s sounds really good.” He’s inhaling calories just reading the signs.
After four hours on the road, he drops me off at the office. I freshen up a bit in the visor mirror. I discover my hair spray can is empty. “Can you stop by Wal-Mart this afternoon?” I ask.
“Sure,” he responds. “I can do that.”
The next morning I ask for the can. He hands it to me. I hold it the prescribed three inches from my head and spray. Foam shoots out onto my hair. I read the can — Mousse. In the personal shopping assistant market, I guess you get what you pay for.
I send him downstairs to order breakfast while I do a quick re-do. We have a $20 coupon — Couponman has worked his wonders again — to split for breakfast. When I arrive, there’s a bowl of oatmeal in front of my seat, and a lavish plate of French toast, fresh fruit and a side of link sausage in front of him. Not quite an even split, but I’m in a hurry. He’s reporting faster than he’s eating. He’s sharing his plans of the day. They all revolve around coupons and food. He’s got a Jama juice card with a few bucks left on it, a free offer for a Carl’s Jr. burger, and he spotted a sign for a Farmer’s Market on the way to the hotel.
He looks up a moment from his feeding frenzy. “Do you want my watermelon?” he asks. “I can’t eat it.”
“Why?”
“Nutrisystem says it’s not on my diet.”
Note to self: Check out Nutrisystem. If French toast and pork are on the diet, sign me up!
Tonight he picked me up and helped pack up my presentation materials and load the clown car. We stop for dinner and he buys a slab of fudge, after eating his free sample (and mine). I zip my thumb and forefinger across my lips to prevent the voices inside my head from shouting out loud — You’re not going to eat that now, are you?
“I’ll eat this tomorrow,” he says. “And I probably should go workout.”
Again I don’t say the obvious — Maybe you should thing about an overnight pass at the gym.
About an hour into the drive, he’s fumbling with the paper bag containing the chocolate. Is it morning already? I want to ask, but my inner mediator is working overtime to keep the narrations confined within my head.
He looks at me. “I’m feeling drowsy. I need a bite to perk me up.”
“Or puff you out,” I blurt out, unable to squelch the voices any longer. There is a look of total euphoria in his eyes and chocolate in the corners of his mouth. I doubt he even heard me.
We arrive home and unpack the car. There sitting half baked, surviving Fresno heat, is a wilted bouquet on the backseat. “Where’d these come from?”
“I got them for you,” he said, “for letting me come on your trip with you.” My quality controller was back from her break. Instead of Did they give them to you with your free Carl’s Jr. hamburger?, I walked around to his side of the car and gave him a peck on his cheek. (I couldn’t get close enough to give him a kiss on the lips.) “I’m glad you came, too.”
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I think it is very possible that our husbands are related! Thanks for the great story.
Hail the Coupon man and sign me up for nutrisystems too. I love sausage and French Toast.
I always get asked to drive when I'm the most tired too. Why can't I start the trip off and then switch with my husband when we are both tired?
Well, I think it's nice Phil went with you and drove.
i laughed out loud 3 times reading this and my mouth is in the biggest grin you've ever seen. love ya, cathi