The Carpool and the Supermodel

My husband returns home from work with sweat on his brow and bottle of water in hand.

"I barely survived," he gasps in his strong Italian accent.

"Why, what happened?" I ask.

"My car broke down, I was stranded on the highway, my cell had no battery, and I barely made it home alive!" In his accent it actually sounds more like "My car-a broke down-en, stranded on ze highvay, my cell had non bat-ter-re, and I barely made-a it ohm alif!"

Ouch. I silently thank God I carry a cell phone charger in my car.

"Wow. Well I'm glad you're here, did you have the car towed?" I ask innocently, as I stroke his back.

"Yes, and I'm getting a ride to work tomorrow from Gisele."

Gisele? Crap. She's the supermodel in his office. Well, she's not officially a supermodel, but she certainly looks like one. She stands 6 feet tall, slim, blond hair, blue eyes, great bone structure, soft spoken...let's put it this way- Heidi Klum comes a close 2nd to Gisele from the "office". What makes it worse, is that she has no idea she's drop-dead stunning. In fact, she's very pleasant, and comes off as the perfect employee. I've met her once, and even I wanted to sleep with her.

"Oh," I say calmly. "How is her husband doing with his new job?" I ask, trying not to sound threatened. I've also put down the chocolate chip cookie I was munching on.

"I think fine," he replies, "I forgot to ask."

Truthfully, I know my husband wouldn't cheat on me, I believe I've married the most trustworthy genuine-hearted man in America. But it never hurts to double-check.

"Well, I'm glad she's got you covered." Oops, bad choice of words.
"Just try not to run off with her and leave the dog and I to fend for ourselves," I say jokingly.

"Don't worry Bellisma," (this is his pet name for me, which I secretly adore.)"I don't want a supermodel, I want you."

Yes, it's a backhanded compliment, but I'll take it.

And first thing tomorrow, I'll call the dealership and put a rush on that repair.