Frans the cuckoo photographer

I was a bit skeptical about this whole ordeal. Why on earth would we go to Fongoli, to look at chimpanzees? I was seriously thinking about admitting Frans to an asylum. There was no other way about it. Honestly, one of the last things I wanted to do was to spend my summer in Africa.
“Frans dear, why on earth are we going to Africa?” I asked him at the dinner table before our 'adventure.'
“Because, Christine,” he replied, “we are going to look at the chimpanzees that live under the ground. Besides, it's not just Africa, it's Fongoli...”
I couldn't believe it. He was generally excited to go.
“...It's going to be the greatest discovery in the whole realm of Chimpanzees! Don't you want that for us dear, we'll be famous, move out of this place, and build a cabin wherever you want to...” he continued his rant as I was cleaning up the dinner table. I had lost my appetite.
“I just don't understand why I have to go.” I shouted from the kitchen to interrupt his diatribe.
“Because you are the best audio recording technician that I know,” he replied, coming into the kitchen to help me with the dishes, “and I love you and I don't want to spend months away from you.”
“Aww, that's sweet honey,” I said, giving him a kiss on the tip of his nose, “I still don't want to go though.”
He stormed off into his office and slammed the door. He wasn't upset, because it was nearly impossible to upset a man that was in love with his 'discoveries' more than his wife. I just let him have his little temper tantrum. Maybe he would realize what a ridiculous idea this was, to uproot everything that we have here and just up and go to Stromboli, or wherever it was that we were going to go.
The next day, as I was making breakfast, he came up behind me and hugged me.
I turned around and asked “What now? Can't you see that I'm cooking? You're going to make be burn the grits.”
“I just wanted to say that I was sorry for the way I behaved last night. I was too excited about going to Fongoli to even ask you if you would like to go. So, in response to your question, what I want to know is; Will you care to join me in Africa to aide in my studies of the underground Fongolian chimpanzees? Please?” He said all of this with a straight face, not even a hint of a smile, and the big puppy dog eyes that he was horrible at.
I sighed and he smiled, knowing that he had won the argument.
“I will go, on one condition.” I said to get my point across.
“Sure, anything!” He said as he was jumping around like a little kid in a candy store full of Black Rhinoceros babies.
“Don't make me ride an ass.”
“Fine. Done. No riding asses for you. Oh Christine, I'm so happy that you decided to come with me. I would have died if I had to have gone over there all alone.”
So, three weeks later, guess where I was. I was on a plane to Fongoli to help my husband, the love of my life, to record underground chimpanzees. It made him happy though, so I had to be supportive. I was the wife of a photographer that was a little bit cuckoo, but I loved the nut. When the plane landed, we stepped onto a runway that was, literally, a strip of dirt.
I guess, all in all, the trip went okay, nothing exploded, and we all had all of our limbs. The photos turned out great, and they won many prizes. The main thing that made it exciting was being in a foreign country with my husband, even if I still wanted to commit him to an asylum during the whole thing.
I still have the number for the one that's in Fongoli, so it's still up for consideration.