Harry's home tonight on a one-day pass before he hops in his car and drives away to Raliegh, NC for a three night excursion. So instead of eating some of the food that I sacrificed my sanity for at the local market we went out to eat at "Jim's" and to get some ice cream.
Now, we do have a specific routine.
I sit on my poofy posterior in the heated/cooled leather seat and Harry goes in, gets the ice cream, and then delivers it to me like I'm some sort of spoiled princess.
Which is totally true (I used to have the crowns to prove it).
So today Harry opens the store's door while holding my little cone in his left hand and his double decker chocolate monster cone in his right. He comes around to the driver's side, opens the door to the SUV and, as if in slow-motion, the double scoop of ice cream falls off his cone. Now, my reflexes rival that only of a dead seal so I just sit there with my mouth open.
Harry, on the other hand, manages to bounce the double scoop from his right hand to his left while still holding on to my cone and then using the three fingers he has wrapped around the almost-dropped mass of gooey ice cream he places the scoops back on to the previously vacated cone. He didn't squish my cone. He didn't drop my cone. He didn't sacrifice the napkins or even toss my ice cream aside to save his own. Nope, he juggled the ice cream instead.
I knew I married a cool dude but I never imagined he would have such wondrous skills as an ice cream juggler. He was like some sort of expertly-trained circus monkey! It was cool as hell.
"Hon? Hand me another napkin?" he finally prodded me from my stupor by gesturing with chocolate-laden fingers toward the center console.
He's so sweet. And talented.