Happiness Defined

Last week, I had to go to MUSC several times. Now, for those who know me, let me begin by saying this was NOT for SuperHubby. I was there with a friend. A boneheaded friend, who rode his motorcycle without a helmet, but a friend nonetheless.

So one day I take his children up to see him. Oh, did I mention The Suppository was dead for almost 2 weeks? Yepper. So...I take these children to see their dad, and I drop them off. And I'm driving SuperHubby's sporty little Nissan Sentra. Here's where it gets good.

I go to leave the parking lot. Lot G. I'm very familiar with Lot G ... I park there whenever I go to MUSC. It's the best place to park. But I digress.

So I'm leaving Lot G. And the guy in the toll booth, who has been there for years (literally), looks and me square in the eye and says - wait for it - "Oh, are you a student?"

Glory. I understand the mistake. I'm extraordinarily adorable, and I was have a terrific hair day (okay, that goes without saying). But that doesn't happen when I'm driving the suppository.

I beamed at the guy. I told him no, thank you, but he had just made my night. He insisted that he really, truly thought I was a student. I told him I was 35, married and the mother of 2 young boys....but if he kept it up, I was giving him my phone number.

People started honking. I didn't care. I realized halfway home that I was grinning like a doofus and singing at the top of my lungs (okay, I do both of those things a lot, but not usually at the same time).

I love this guy. It may have been dark out, he may have been drinking heavily during his breaks, but he made my day.