Several months ago, when Ben went hunting, or fishing, or something manly- whatever, in Florida, he found himself about done at the end of day 2-out-of-3.
Later in the evening when he was standing around this world class resort with a martini in his hand, yucking it up with all the other swells, he happened to mention out-loud that he would sure love to go home early.
It just so happened that this sentiment fell on the ears of a fellow attendee that happened to have a private jet and he offered my husband a ride. Sorta like ‘can I give you a lift?’- on steroids.
So, off they went, and later that night Ben came sauntering in like it was no problemo.
“You’re back early.”
“I hopped a ride home in a private jet.”
“Wha…..? Who has a private jet?”
“I know people.”
“You really don’t. You just think you do, so spill it.”
“Yep. Up and away. Flying the friendlies. Just me and the Great Blue Skies.”
“Seriously. What happened? Were you kidnapped? Drugged perhaps? Running drugs?”
“Ya know, it’s not so bad if you’re in the driver’s seat. Well, co-pilot seat, hahahaa.”
“You sat in the actual co-pilot seat? Up front. Where the big boy window is?”
“And you survived? Without barfing?”
“And why would someone do this for a perfect stranger?”
“Because he was going my way.”
“I like your way. I want to go there.”
“We will. We’re going to his house for dinner- except it’s at his multi-million dollar theatre renovation opening night party. But, don’t worry, we’ll have seats up front.”
“… I never doubted you for a minute.”