So today it really kind of hit me that my ordeal with the Questura is finished for awhile. Yesterday I was just trying to survive. I know this because I couldn't concentrate on anything yesterday. The most basic functions were beyond me.
The best example of this being as we stood next to our bikes when we left the Questura taking the various locks off of wheels, frames and signs. As I got ready to put my helmet on I reached up to take my sunglasses off the top of my head. I patted my head maybe a dozen times convinced that I was somehow missing the glasses that I clearly remember putting up there and now vaguely remember setting on the counter in front of the bullet-proof glass inside the Questura.
Slightly panicked I looked in my bag, inside my helmet and patted my head again for good measure. I looked at my hands (front and back) to make sure I wasn't actually holding them with one hand while looking for them with the other. Not that this has ever happened before, but...
"Oh no!" I told Leif, "I think I left my sunglasses in there!" I was nearly paralyzed at the thought of going back inside.
He looked at me kind of funny. "What?" I almost yelled at him. I'm tired of losing sunglasses on every continent.
"You're wearing them," he told me quietly.
I was speechless. I thought he was nuts. I would know if I was wearing them. It would be darker out. I would feel them. Then again...now that he mentioned it...I didn't even put a hand to my face to feel them there and I refused to look for the frames I knew I would see, now that I knew I would see them.
I opened my mouth a couple of times to say something, but nothing brilliant or even just face-saving came to mind. If he were an American husband he would have totally laughed at me. Thank goodness he's Swedish. He just followed my lead, putting on his helmet and getting ready to ride home without saying a word.
And this, my friends, is just one of the reasons I love him. Even when I'm being a complete and total fool he acts like my behavior is nothing out of the ordinary. Even when it's clearly not normal and possibly verging on hysterical. He's a keeper.