Me and my nice self

We've been talking about it for months, with my common canned answer, "Can we talk about this when it gets closer?" or "Can we talk about this when I'm in a better mood?" Two common ways I play dodge-the-question.

But this week in a fit of -- God, what? love? -- I went to him and said sweetly, "So when am I bringing you to the airport that day?"

He laughed. "Uh, let me check Expedia." I waited, thinking "aw, look, isn't this nice? I'll take him to the airport, we'll have one of those movie farewells and music will play --" and just when I was getting to John Denver's typical airport song, Dave broke in.

"Um. My flight leaves at 7:30." Yes, that's a.m. "It says I have to be there two hours earlier."

"NO! Dave! No! No. Are you kidding?" I laughed. "Oh, you're joking."

He shook his head slowly. "No, look."

You guys. I don't think I love anyone that much before 8 a.m. Much less 5 a.m.

"If you bring me to the airport I'll make you a cheese omelet!"

"Not helping."