The hubs was home for four whole days. A lot of liquor was consumed, more pizza than I care to admit and I did my best Gumby impersonation on more than one occasion.

Besides having some quality romantic time , Boo managed to knock a few items off my Honey Do list. Without me bitching at him. NO. REALLY. He did it all on his own. He was just so damn happy to be back at home living with his family, he would have done just about anything in gratitude to show his appreciation of us.

Well, that and the fact that he got a speeding ticket on his way home. The facker was trying to earn his salvation.

Admittedly, neither of us are the perfect spouse. But that doesn’t stop us from trying (for about two whole hours) when we see each other.

One of the items on Boo’s list of chores to accomplish before his wife’s candy store opened for business was for him to get his passport. Other items included giving me a back rub, grilling me a steak and putting his damn laundry away.

(You’d be surprised at the lengths I’d go to avoid putting laundry away.)

First thing Friday morning, we trekked into the city to our nearest passport office. About half way there, Boo slammed on the brakes and looked at me with a wild look of panic in his eye.

“I forgot my birth certificate at home. We have to go back.”

“Do you have your driver’s license?” Going back home would tack on another hour before we even hit city limits and I was jonesing for a Starbucks coffee.

“Ya, but the papers clearly state I need my birth certificate and I left it on the counter.”

Like the dumbass I am, I looked at him and said, “Nah, they don’t even look at it. When I went this spring they didn’t ask to see it. You’ll be fine. I promise. Now get thee to the city so that I may spend obscene amounts of your hard earned cash on calorie-ladled coffee.”

“Are you sure?” he asked as he looked at me warily.

“Is the sky blue? Now quit doubting your wife and drive!”

Walking into the passport building and noting the two hundred or so people waiting to see the three government officials stuck in their little kiosk, Boo looked at me and said, “I’m gonna murder you in front of all these people if we wait in this bloody line all damn day only to discover we needed my birth certificate.”

“It gets me all hot when you threaten me, pretty boy. Now act like a good boy and get in line with the rest of the lemmings.”

Lucky for me we only waited about an hour in a line filled with annoying people before the government official asked for his birth certificate and tsked at us as she sent us packing until we could produce one.

Needless to say, Boo was annoyed. And I narrowly escaped with my life. So yesterday, we went back to the passport office, birth certificate clasped tightly in Boo’s oversized paw, and gasped when we saw the length of the line. It seemed to triple over the weekend.

Fack. Double fack.

“You are so not worth this.” Boo was annoyed, as he weaved his way to the back of a line that weaved about the building several times. I could feel my shame rise again as I vividly recalled telling him not to turn the car around.

Every now and then, my stupidity astounds me.

“I’ll fix this. Wait here. And don’t talk to any strangers. Especially females. You may decide to trade me in. Can’t have that.” Off I set to fix the problem. Lucky for me, the guard remembered Boo and I clearly from Friday and after a few flattering words (okay, so I begged like my life depended on it) she obtained a ticket for us to by pass the line.

Boo was impressed. The hundreds of people who had been waiting in line for hours before us, were not. “How did you do that?” A silence ensued as the surrounding people held their breath to learn my dark secrets.

“Easy. I showed her my boobs. Works every time.”

“Damn. I need a set of knockers. Think of the raises and vacation time I could get if I could just flash my boobs willy-nilly at the boys.”

“Oh, Boo. You aren’t that far behind. A few more donuts and then I’ll teach you to squeeze your boobs together using your arms. With your pretty blue eyes, tight ass and growing breasticles, you’ll have all the men after you in no time,” I joked.

Just as he was reaching to choke the life out of me, his number was called.

Saved by an underpaid, overworked, government official. Who would have thought?