The teen bride of some decades needed to get the beloved 2011 Chrysler sedan in for service for new brakes and an oil change. Our cars have been serviced well for 40 years at Gemma's. Joe Gemma and his father have treated us well and we won't take a car anyplace else. The old man is in his 90s, an Italian immigrant and has promised to outlive all of his customers. Joe isn't a kid anymore but neither am I since I first brought a car to him for service in 1978.

Anyway, the wife was going to get up "early" to get the car to the shop and walk home. She likes to sleep in. I told her to stuff that thought. I told her that after my run to ShopRite I would drop the car off and walk home and I did just that. I dropped the car off and grabbed my muffin bag and carton of Bud Lights and off I walked.

When I got home the wife was up for a pee before going back to her bed. And that's when the conversation started.

She: "You lugged that beer home on foot from Gemma's?"

Me: "Yes."

She: "Why didn't you bring the beer home and then go back to Gemma's to drop off the car? You could have walked back carrying nothing."

Me: "I only wanted to drive by Gemma's once. Carrying the beer as an old fart was like humping a can of ammo for a machine gun when a Marine knows he's got to deliver. It was easy."

She: "I'm going back to bed to pray for your brain."

And that's how my Wednesday began.