Toward the end of the workday, Mr. W let me know that he was leaving to go home, but that he was going to drop off his drycleaning first. I said okay, and presumably he left after that conversation. I then spent the next half hour or so on the phone making my ob-gyn appointment with Kaiser. (Earliest available with any doctor in the county: December 10. Ugh.) I expected with the half-hour headstart, that even with his drycleaning (which was on Mr. W’s way home), Mr. W should get home before I did. So I called him as I drove up our street to ask him to open the garage door for me, since our garage can’t be opened remotely right now. He picked up after almost 4 rings, sounding serious. “Are you home?” I asked.
“No, I just got back,” he said.
“Got back to where?”
“I mean, I just finished dropping off my drycleaning and I’m just now getting back home. Are you home?”
“I’m just pulling up. What took you so long?”
“I had to drop off my drycleaning. I’m almost home, I’ll be back shortly.”
“But you left work almost 2 hours ago.”
“Well, I left late, and then I had to drop off my drycleaning. I’ll be back soon, so I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
Odd. And he sounded so serious, almost irate. And so CLEAR. No road noise whatsoever. Plus, he picked up after 4 rings, when his car has the bluetooth connection set to automatically pick up after the first ring. Something wasn’t right. Drycleaning doesn’t take that long, I’ve been to that place with him, he’s in and out in 5 minutes.
“You left late?” I prompted.
“Yes! I left late. And I just dropped off my drycleaning. I’ll talk to you when I get home, I’m almost home now. Okay?”
He sure was in a hurry to get me off the phone.
“Okay,” I said. I went in the front door and opened the garage door from inside the house by myself. After I parked my car in, I closed the garage door behind me. And I locked the front door, too. Hmmph.
Less than 15 minutes later, Mr. W called. I actually considered deliberately taking my time to pick up the phone. But I didn’t; I picked it up. “Yes?”
“I’m outside. Can you open the garage door for me?” he asked. I was silent. “Hello?” he said.
“I’m thinking about it,” I grumbled in my best cranky voice, even as I was already pushing the button. He laughed like he understood I was messing with him.

When he finally came in the house, I heard plastic rustling around, and he called out, “I got this for you.” Curious, I walked into the kitchen. He dumped an armload of stuff on the table. “Forty dollars’ worth of chocolate,” he said proudly. I gawked. And then I laughed. Check out this loot:

Ben & Jerry’s ice cream singles in Cherry Garcia, Strawberry Cheesecake, Mint Chocolate Cookie, Chocolate Fudge Brownie. Breyers dark chocolate ice cream. Claim Jumper’s infamous 6-layer Motherlode cake. I’m not a comfort food person, but I was TOUCHED. He brought home dinner. We each had a portion of the Motherlode cake (I couldn’t finish mine) with some ice cream for dinner, washing it down with tea. Mr. W did offer to pour alcohol over our dinner, too.

Apparently when I had called and he let slip that he’d “just gotten back,” he WAS back, in the neighborhood, across the street at the grocery store.
(If you’re thinking, “What’s with the chocolate?”, read the previous post.)