Skip to main content

All Wit

My wife, the wit.

Fatigued and sleepy, Thelma was laying in bed this evening longing for a water bottle from the kitchen. I started downstairs and told her I'd fetch it.

"If you do, I'll be forever in your debt."

"That must be some pretty good water," I joked.

"No. I just don't have my own source of income."

Well, at least I'm good for something. Then again, the bar might be pretty low.

Earlier in the evening we were discussing the Hartman Color Personality Test. I found an example of the test online. During part of the test, you are supposed to select groups of adjectives that describe you most of the time. The problem, though, is that each of the groups always seem to include a poison pill.

What group of words describes you most of the time?
  • Smart, funny, dishonest.
  • Logical, determined, prone to violent outbursts.
  • Friendly, considerate, horrible body odor.
  • Playful, spontaneous, still confused about why people insist on naming their children (and SUVs) after towns in Arizona.
What are you supposed to pick? Who is going to admit to being considerate and smelly, even if that was somehow possible?

In any case, it got us talking about our faults. Thelma wondered how the two of us managed to get together considering my perfectionist tendencies and her penchant for impatience.

"My choice was easy," I insisted, "because I was looking for perfection and there you were."

"Well," she replied, "I could have found the perfect husband, but who has that kind of time."

She got the last laugh, but at least I got the girl.

Comments

Thelma said…
Very unfair quoting your wife when she's too tired for her internal editor to be on the job.

Popular posts from this blog

Block Facebook Ads with CSS

(This is my experience evaluating Facebook for my daughter.  It turned into a technical exercise in CSS.  If you want the full narrative, read on.  If you just want the steps for using CSS to block ads on Facebook, jump ahead .) Emma asked permission to create a Facebook account so she can keep in touch with some of her cousins and friends.  Emma has been very responsible using our family computer and does a good job keeping our rules about what to do and how to behave online.  So, Thelma and I decided that it was probably OK once I had a chance to check out and become familiar with the privacy settings and parental controls. Even though I work for an online business and Facebook is a frequent topic of conversation when it comes to reaching out to and retaining online customers, I have to admit that I have rarely used the service.  I created an account for business purposes to become a "fan" of a client so I could keep tabs on some social marketing campaigns.  That's it.

Awake. Again.

I arrived home from work with just enough daylight and just enough Spring to mow the lawn.  Braeden and I reveled in the straight lines and greening blades.  "It's the awakening," he said. — I sat in the temple and smiled at the sight of Emma and Braeden sitting side by side, quiet and content.  Outside the temple, we stared up at the stained glass, the angel, the glowing walls.  I asked Emma how she felt.  "Light and airy," she replied. — Driving home from the airport, I listened to my mother describe her trip to Disneyland with Megan, Talia and Jackson.  "If your dad were still alive..." she began to say.  For the first time, I smiled and laughed instead of fighting back tears. — Awake. Light. Laugh. Alive. Again. — Everyone is asleep.  I sit down to write.  I don't cry.  I don't turn away.  It's a change.  I can write again, at last.  But it's not the same as Before.  Everything seems different now that I live

Helped or Had

I feel uneasy tonight. I'm not sure if I helped or was had. In what has become something of a Thursday-evening-post-basketball tradition, I drove to Walmart for some late night shopping. Two weeks ago it was new shorts and an exercise shirt. Last week it was another exercise shirt (because I liked the first one so much). This week it was new insoles and laces for my basketball shoes. (Thelma, who has thoroughly documented her distaste for shopping at Walmart has driven me to these shopping trips under the cover of night.) Approachable is not how I would have described myself as I trudged across the Walmart parking lot in my wife-beater sleeveless shirt, shorts and coordinating fleece vest. Sweaty, yes. Beleagured, perhaps. Approachable, no. But a woman did approach. Something told me to stop and wait for her. She was caught somewhere between out-of-breath and verge-of-tears. I could see she was nervous talking to me. She tripped quickly over some desperate story that I co