After seven hours of drinking in Charlestown, don't worry this doesn't include me as I was designated driver, my husband and I decided it was time to head back to Cambridge to do what we do best on Sunday nights: sit in front of the TV and watch HBO and Showtime. Getting out of Charlestown was a real treat. My husband, Nick, was a touch inebriated due to mass consumptions of vodka, whiskey, and day old Diet Coke, and made it a very entertaining ride home.
Let me first state that I love my husband, but this opportunity to politely poke fun is just too good to pass up at 4:00 on a Monday. As soon as we got into the car, he blasted music. Normally that's cool with me, except that I was in Charlestown and had no idea how to get home, so I needed to use the nav. Clearly.
Now let me explain the state of affairs with my car. It's an '01 Honda with over 300K miles on it. Simply put, it does not purr like a kitten. It sounds more or less like someone hacking up cat hair from one of Ashley's cats. When Nick turned on the heat, he blasted it. Emphasis on the word blast, to the point where my contacts felt like they were going to melt into my irises. I immediately turned the volume of the music down and lowered the heat. Nick started telling me what a control freak I was, followed by passing out in the passenger seat until we got home to Cambridge. Thank God.
Nick-if you're reading this you can make it up to me by cooking lasagna this week. Lasagna plus Ghost Busters equals success in the Holroyd house.
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