It all started when my sweet Sven began to zone out.
Not only was he not listening to whatever I was saying, sometimes he fell over.
This made driving seem like a bad idea.
Thus, I began to drive Mr. Daisy for what we hoped was a three month adventure while a new anti-seizure medication was to mingle and become one with his blood and make him listen to my stories to the end.
At first the new arrangement was strange and sad and a little on the eggshell walking side of life, not knowing the outcome of this new chapter.
Would we be stuck in the same vehicle forever?
Over our thirty-six years of marriage the balancing act we created was headed for some major adjustments.
Being an eternal optimist and doer of good deeds, as long as the good deed is not too hard, I decided that I would drag my ass out of bed early in order to drive my husband to town, so as not to interrupt his ritual cup of coffee from the gas station, even though we have coffee at home and he was usually drinking a brew that he already made while waiting for yours truly to get up and make a cup for herself so that she would be safe to drive his butt to town to buy a cup of coffee.
But life has nothing to do with making sense.
Even though Mr. Shotgun has a debit card, he does all his banking at the bank.
In just a matter of two and a half months I was able to pull up close enough to reach the button and then get a hold of the capsule and put Mr. Daisy's check inside the contraption and watch it take off like a rocket and return full of cash, that I would then hand over to my passenger so that we could make another stop at the Little Store.
It was nice to see the mopey kid without a driver license sitting next to me jump out and click away in a pair of saddle shoes and get into a golf cart with his buddy, barely remembering to wave good-by before disappearing around the bend.
I drove the two of us through the lumber yard, to the cottage, the grocery store and to the Mothers' Day brunch during those not so magical ninety days.
Or were they?
We were one again.
Side by side.
Day in and day out.
The inseparable Millie and Sven dream team. So in love. Always together, never apart. Never a dull moment.
We knew every little detail about every little detail in each other's lives.
And then, just like that Mr. Daisy got the all clear from his doctor.
All he had to do was have his blood drawn to prove there was enough medicine running through his veins to keep him from falling over so that his doctor could sign the release form that would be mailed to us so that we could take it to the DMV so that Sven could get his license back.
No matter how many days in a row we checked our mailbox, it was not there.
That is not true.
It was there on the fourteenth day.
The following morning Mr. Daisy and I were at the gas station early.
With fresh brews steaming from our cup holders I got behind the wheel and drove the amazing, inseparable, dream team, straight to the DMV.
That is where we learned that the department of transportation had never been notified of Mr. Daisy's condition in the first place.
I do not make this shit up.