“How was the flight?” Howard asked as he pulled away from the terminal. “Any crazies on board?”
“No, no crazies,” Rachel said. “At least no one tried to open the emergency exit door at 30,000 feet.”
“That’s a plus,” said Howard. “And the class reunion? It went well?”
“Yes, it went well. I had a wonderful time, but it’s good to be home.”
Rachel saw the cot when Howard pulled into the garage. “Why did you set up a cot?”
“It’s for you,” Howard said. “Airplanes are flying petri dishes. All those passengers sneezing, hacking and gacking, coughing in a confined space, breathing that same air over and over. It’s nasty and gives me the willies.” Howard shivered. “To make sure you haven’t picked up a bug you have to live in the garage for the next two weeks. You know, like being quarantined.”
“You’re joking.”
“It’s only for two weeks. A piece of cake. You can do it.” He smiled at her.
Howard sat on the cot, polishing a chrome-plated 19 mm open-end wrench. It’s not often, he told himself, a man gets to spend so much time up close and personal with his tools without his wife complaining about being neglected. He glanced at the calendar on the garage wall and picked up another wrench. Only three more days to go. “A piece of cake,” he muttered, and began polishing the wrench.
“No, no crazies,” Rachel said. “At least no one tried to open the emergency exit door at 30,000 feet.”
“That’s a plus,” said Howard. “And the class reunion? It went well?”
“Yes, it went well. I had a wonderful time, but it’s good to be home.”
Rachel saw the cot when Howard pulled into the garage. “Why did you set up a cot?”
“It’s for you,” Howard said. “Airplanes are flying petri dishes. All those passengers sneezing, hacking and gacking, coughing in a confined space, breathing that same air over and over. It’s nasty and gives me the willies.” Howard shivered. “To make sure you haven’t picked up a bug you have to live in the garage for the next two weeks. You know, like being quarantined.”
“You’re joking.”
“It’s only for two weeks. A piece of cake. You can do it.” He smiled at her.
Howard sat on the cot, polishing a chrome-plated 19 mm open-end wrench. It’s not often, he told himself, a man gets to spend so much time up close and personal with his tools without his wife complaining about being neglected. He glanced at the calendar on the garage wall and picked up another wrench. Only three more days to go. “A piece of cake,” he muttered, and began polishing the wrench.
