Scampering husbands

Ken Cannon, as I've indicated here, is a superior husband and superior human being.  The only way in which I am superior to his superiority--not including the part where I could give birth and he couldn't--is that I have a much better sense of time than he does.

This means that over the years I've done a fair amount of waiting for him.  Which is why whenever I have to take something to his office and he's supposed to meet me on Broadway for the handoff, I always end up illegally parked in front of his office building.  Waiting.

So today I called him before I left and said BE OUT FRONT.  And he said I'LL BE OUT FRONT.  So I left our house with confidence in his eminent out-frontness surging through my bosom.

But he wasn't there.  I had to call him on my cell and when I got him on the phone, it was clear that he'd gotten distracted and had lost track of time.  Within moments of my crisply-worded call,  I saw him scamper out of the building and toward my illegally parked car as though his life depended on it.

Which it did.

Here's the good part, though.  Seconds after Ken Cannon came scampering out of the building, another man (I didn't recognize him) came scampering out, too.  And he headed straight for the car illegally parked in front of ME being driven by a grumpy middle-aged blonde.

His wife, no doubt.

Clearly all across America, it's Scampering Husbands Day.