Giving rides to strangers.

What I wore: Shoes, Target. Jeans, Bealls. Top, Korner Kloset (boutique). Sunglasses, AE. 

Friday evening my mom and I made enchiladas.

The table was set, the food was hot and cheesy,

sending delicious, steamy goodness wafting into my nostrils,

and I was drooling puddles waiting patiently for Ryan to come home for dinner.

And then he called to tell me he was going to be 45 minutes late.

My enchilada-starved eyes narrowed. 

Why? Why, why, why?

He said he was at the gas station when he met a guy who had missed his

bus and needed a ride to the airport to catch his flight.
So Ryan volunteered to drive him.

My first thought after hanging up the phone was that 

perhaps I should have been more concerned.

What if he was actually being held at gunpoint and I was supposed to hear

some imperceptible tone of fear in his voice and know to call the police? 

(Hey, that stuff happens all the time in the movies.)

But, of course, nothing was wrong. 

Ryan was just going 45 minutes out of his way to do something nice for a stranger,

because that's exactly the kind of guy he is. 

Sometimes it means I have to eat enchiladas without him (I was hungry)

but I love that he's always willing to help someone in need.

I wouldn't have my Good Samaritan husband any other way.