But you aren’t my husband!

My friend Meg was painting the lounge and finding herself in need of more paint, commandeered hubby to drive her down to the store.  Hubby parks the car while she runs inside to pick up the paint.  Shortly thereafter, out she comes, hops quickly into the car, loading two 3 litre tins of emulsion into the foot-well.

Seat belt on and yes, you guessed it…  “BUT … but…. you aren’t my husband“

“No dear, much as I would like to take you home, my wife really wouldn’t like it”

At what point does the embarrassment hit?  Immediately?  When you realise you are in the wrong car?  When it dawns on you, hubby has moved to a better spot down the road? Or is it that moment when you find yourself having to extract yourself and two large tins of paint from a stranger’s car?

Well honestly, it was the same colour!  Parked in the same spot…