This posting is in the spirit of “how could life be all somber or insufferable for very long (not that it isn’t those things at times . . . for real for us), when for real, for us, stuff like this happens:

I offer exhibit A: the compliment I received. I was told by my wife that she wished she could learn to iron her clothes like me.

Rightfully proud in that moment, I sought more praise. “How so,” I asked under the melody of innocence.

She went on, “Well, you make it seem so easy.”

Again, ever so modestly, I boasted my reply, “Yep, it is, when you do it right.”

“Your way, right?” she asked.

I heard, “You’re always right.” (Do note: I missed the question mark/tone, as well as missing her wording entirely.) Fault/No-fault, whatever . . . I’m ok either way.

     And so, I replied, “Yup.”

(For the next few moments, we were not playing from the same sheet of music, which can be a daily comedy routine between us, so I won’t repeat that mish-mash here.)

     After the fog of confusion had been cleared, I—quite true to form—brought the subject of ironing back up. I suspect myself of searching for one more morsel of that feeling of righteousness. (I know, I know, it’s about friggin’ ironing—but I’ll take validation wherever I can from her . . . my issue, I’m aware.)

“So, you were saying, . . .” was my segue (Segway?—tomato-potato).

“Oh, we’re back to that, are we?”

I froze. It was the tone. I instantly sensed a trap had been sprung. It was too late. 

She was already standing up. “Yep,” she exhaled as she half-stretched out her arms, “Who knew? All those years I used flat surfaces and heat, when all I had to do was like you,” and she proceeded to brush one hand down her front followed by the other in a smoothing fashion. “There, that’s better,” she declared. “Just like you.”

She winked.

I did the shrink, along with my own wink.

Laughing all the while.

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    Disclaimer: Poetic license is at work both here and in my books. Any errors or anomalies are through no fault of my editor. These were left deliberately at my expressed intention to clearly indicate that goodness does not require perfection.

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