His Fluffer

 

As I mentioned last week, my friend’s epic birthday party gave us an excuse for a mini road trip. 

 

I know some people avoid long drives, but our relationship more or less began in the car—that sounded dirty, but I swear only everything else I say is—and so for us a long drive is like a repeat of that first date.

 

Which is why I’m not going to tell you about Audrey’s party—you’ll get nothing from me on the beautiful food (tapas, because she’s adulting on a whole ‘nother level) or how drunk I got or the demonstrations from an even drunker ER nurse that had us all laughing until someone spilled red wine (which was weird, because we were all drinking vodka.)

 

Instead, I want to share yet another of our car convos, because I feel we are at our most us when we’re trapped in a car all day. 

 

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We’re Bad In Restaurants

 

As many of you have noted, my husband and I have a great rapport, and are able to strike up a meaningful, loving, or silly conversation (my favorites combine all three) with little to no provocation. 

 

I love to talk, he loves to make me laugh: it’s a recipe for nonstop chatter and it’s no wonder that we are, conversationally, so good together. 

 awwww

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Getting There Is Half The Fun

 

In my defense, I really love good Mexican food my husband.

 

Seriously, I’m a sucker for decent Mexican.  Which we can’t get up north (and I wish they’d quit pretending, it just makes me sad).  Plus, this time he’s going somewhere warm and a bit less humid, and he promised me that he will make not one single peep about my bubble tea habit. 

bubble tea

If you leave out the ice, you can drink ’em faster.

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