Yesterday in work it was one of those days.
Nothing went wrong as such, but things just didn't come together and I couldn't get any of my jobs done in one go. I was bobbing round from one thing to the other, driving myself mad.
D usually picks me up at about 5.30pm. At 5.10pm I called him to let him know that I wasn't going to be ready and said I'd get the bus home. I thought I'd be finished just after 6pm and he didn't fancy hanging around in the cold and the dark and damp with fireworks going off all the time.
By the time I got finished it was 6.35pm. By the time I left the building it was 6.40pm - incidentally 40 minutes after I'm supposed to leave. I really didn't fancy standing at the bus stop, waiting God knows how long for a bus, but I comforted myself with the thought of left-over Chinese from the night before.
But when I got outside, there was our little car, D behind the wheel, listening to his new Cure CD (I popped into town to get it for him when it came out about 10 days ago and he hasn't stopped listening to it since) and waiting for me.
He'd been there for an hour.
I nearly died of shock. Then I nearly cried.
If it'd been me, I would've either called to say I was there and find out how long it was going to be, or given up and gone home long before.
I have the best husband in the universe.