Monday, December 22, 2014
Last night she had finally had enough. She pulled the brown pullover shirt off the floor, the shirt I had on for merely a few hours yesterday. "See this shirt you just took off? You're wearing it again. It's clean. Enough."
I apologized, consented, backpedaled, all the things we husbands occasionally have to do.
This morning I put the shirt back on. It just so happens that I had an appointment to appraise some paintings at a pretty tony home in the country. After being whisked through the electronic gate, I met the matriarch, who looked at me for a second and sized me up before allowing me entrance to the lovely house.
We looked at paintings here and some paintings there, all in all very nice stuff. It was obvious that it will take some time to do a good job for her and we made plans for me to come back another day. She followed me to my van.
"Next time, shower."
"Ulp," I protested, pulling the brown shirt away from my chest and quickly sniffing my left armpit. "My wife does my laundry and she just laid the law down about me wearing things twice. I'm so sorry."
She smiled at me kindly. And clarified.
"Next time we need to go through the paintings I have stacked in the shower."
We both had a good laugh and I drove away.