Hulking Out.

Greetings from the recently returned Gold Coasting party animals. No, we weren't at schoolies, with the toolies and the moolies and the woset in the closet and the bofa on the sofa (sorry....Seussed out there for a moment). We (DH & self) were attending his social club's annual slapfest and booze up at Sea World, with the penguins and the dolphins and you get the idea. Although we did drive through schoolie central on our way home this morning and I have to say, I was highly disappointed. Where was the debauchery I was expecting??? Where were the head banging hooners?? At this point DH reminded me that it was ten past nine in the morning and all the schoolies were busy doing their mandatory practice upchucks in preparation for another night of "OMG did you SEE what she DID???? I swear, I would SO not do that in a public phone box. Unless he was WAY hotter than that", so I gave up trying to spot wildlife in order to deal with the fact that DH was turning green and gruesome in the drivers seat. He has a problem, poor man. He's subject to random attacks of Hulking Out, if the other drivers on the road fail to read his mind. And I gotta say, I am OVER IT. Big Time. Frankly, if you're gonna Hulk Out, then get an appropriate vehicle. Like a tank. A 12 year old two door festiva with cling wrap windows does NOT cut it. But try telling that to DH who cursed his way merrily up the motorway pausing only to laugh at the guy next to us in the silver Chrysler who got his portrait painted courtesy of the highway patrol at Yatala. My husband, Hulk Hartwell, terror of the open road. I'm SO proud.