Romance is a long week ending with a shared dinner and a tank full of gas.

Pumping gas is one of my very least favorite things. Very least favorite. No doubt I was spoiled with an open account at a full-service fuel station for most of my adult life. It makes it even harder now.

So tonight, on the way home, Husband fills my tank with fuel. He swipes the card, sets the pump. And then…wait for it…WAIT FOR IT…

He goes home to relieve our fabulous sitter ahead of me. That means he gets pounced on upon entering. I’ll return home and just love and kiss on them and tuck them in. I am grateful.

And being blocked in by other patrons, I even have a few more minutes. Thank you.

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