Remember that time when we lived in Athens and left late for the Atlanta airport? We didn’t realize how long it was taking to mail all your pre-Bar paperwork, and we got halfway down I-85 and realized we were going to be very late for our flight. You quietly, successfully and speedily (but safely) navigated your way south through ridiculous Atlanta traffic, and I was completely in awe at your driving abilities. You dropped me off at the curb to check in to our flight and you ran through the April heat from long-term parking. We bolted to the trains and had a moment of peace while we were at the mercy of their speed (and we saw Habig at our second to last stop!). I remember that, while we were waiting for the train to bring us to our terminal, I looked at you and laughed and knew I was glad that we were doing all this panicking together. When the train let us out at our terminal, we started running (our gate was at the end of the terminal) and you were carrying our suitcase over your head. I couldn’t keep up with you, so you ran ahead because you knew I would know what you were doing. (I was so out of shape then!) I caught up to you at the gate as the airline receptionist asked, “Is this your wife?” and she let us on the plane.
We were sweaty and still full of nerves as we boarded, all of the passengers staring at us for causing the delay. And then we looked at each other and just laughed. I can’t believe we did it. We didn’t even say anything.
But we made it.
Happy anniversary, bud. I love you.