My wife

Wednesday evening.

The storm is finally whipping up. All afternoon, they warned of it. Here it is.

Erin has Henry at his weekly basketball class. The roads are getting bad. She probably cannot see this from the gym. I consider calling to tell them to come home before it gets worse.

Nah, she's a big girl.

An hour goes by. They are not home. Surely, they didn't stop somewhere on the way home. Surely.

The door blows open. Snow swirls around outside. Two bundled packages of human stumble onto the landing. One of them holds a shopping bag.

Me: (more of a statement, than a question) You stopped for groceries.

Erin: We can't have a storm day without butter.


Craig Wesley said...

Who *doesn't* love Erin?

karn said...

so true... on the butter and the love.

just us said...

After reading that post, how many neighbours shoveled the path to your home first! They could probably smell the baked goods with every scoop.