It was late and Eddie and I were driving in the pitch black, listening to XM Radio and fighting over the temperature controls. He kept making it hotter, I kept turning it off.
"You can't possibly be hot over there." he said.
"Well, I am. The heat is coming up from underneath and my legs are on fire!"
"Well, my legs are cold." he said. Like I care.
So I reached up to get my little lap blanket and handed it to him, "Here, put this over your legs."
"Absolutely not." he answered; in a voice that sounded so horrified at the idea, you'd think I had asked him to fashion it into a babushka to wear on his head.
"Why not? It works great. Just put it over your legs to keep them warm and then you won't have to put the heat up so high."
"Well, you're the one who is cold and I'm not going to sit over here sweating my..."
At that moment, his hand flies up, stopping me mid-sentence to say, "Shhh! I'm listening to Gershwin."
He just shushed me for Gershwin.
So, after I stopped laughing, I let him have his silence so he could listen to the rest of the program.
It was Gershwin, after all.