He married me because I make him laugh, he says. My somber pessimistic pride is hurt; where have I let a laugh or joke slip in? It is out of my control it seems, for dopiness is natural endowment.
He needs the bathroom quick, he says, while I am brushing teeth, with hair and creaming dry skin yet to do. I understand his pain and rush, for what I lack in humor I make up for in my practical non-wasting time ways of delegating tasks. Two hands can do two things, I know, and get them quicker done. Without a blip in brushing with my right, my left has sought and steadied the lotion on the edge of counter. I brush and brush my teeth, and with my left depress the pump…and watch the lotion plop down on the rug.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology