The other day I came back from running an errand to find an unfamiliar car in the driveway. I knew we had a guy coming over to give us a quote on a new HVAC system---so no big surprise.
As I parked elsewhere and walked up my path, my husband Mike appeared at the door.
"You can see Bob's here."
"Yep," I said, entering the house. "I pieced that together. I write mysteries for a living, you know."
"I just didn't want you to think I had my mistress here," he said, joking.
I laughed and joked back. "Mistress? I'd hope she had a nicer car than that!"
I said this at the top of my lungs....as I came around the corner to find Bob at our kitchen table staring at me.
You remember Bob. The guy with the crappy car.
Smooth as always. It's like my superpower.
I slapped a frozen smile on my face while my brain calculated which would be better:
- Explain to Bob I'd meant I hoped only a fabulously rich woman tooling around in an Aston Martin or something could steal Mike away from me...or...
- Runaway.
Somehow joking about my husband's imaginary rich mistress with someone who maybe didn't even hear Mike's original joke seemed like a minefield, so I pivoted and bolted to the back of the house, never to be seen by Bob again.
But I'm thinking that HVAC quote could have been better...
