The mystery of pudding and wine

Our re-entry into Sarajevo did not go smoothly. We got in at 11:30 p.m., not the 8:30 p.m. we'd expected after two transfers. We waited until all the bags came through the carousel to make sure even one of our three giant bags did not show up. None did. Then the line at the Lost Baggage Claim window was clogged with people -- all chattering angrily in French -- at three overworked but blase Bosnian staffers.

Drew had come to fetch us but he couldn't come into the terminal because of -- of course -- security. So he waited out in the cold by the door and sent us an SMS: "Don't stress. I have wine. And pudding."

OK, now that bowls me over. How considerate is THAT? About our two most favorite comforts in the world and he them without being asked. Just coming out in the cold when we could have taken a taxi was nice, but this was above and beyond.

Why can't husbands be more like friends? They would never think about this. Hawley and I wondered. We went on and on about the strangeness of niceness until Drew cleared it up. Actually, he admitted, he never did things like that for girlfriends, come to think of it. He was more likely to be thinking of other things.