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

Moving to Graduate School

I have been thinking a lot about my father this week. On Monday I helped Braeden and Anna move all of their belongings out of Deleward and into a moving truck bound for Woodland, CA where Braeden starts graduate school at nearby UC Davis next month. As I walked from the truck parked on 400 East across the lawn and up the stairs, my mind flashed back to 24 years earlier when I was moving out of the same apartment building, walking across the same grass, and loading up my own moving truck with the help of my dad.  Braeden was just eight months old at the time. I can still see him sitting in the grass with my dad, Thelma, and cheap-enough-that-we-could-afford-it pizza and bread sticks from Sounds Easy. It meant everything to have my dad there with me. Looking back on it I realize that Thelma was the real star. I was working right up to the very end. As with all of our moves, she did the bulk of the packing and planning. I was just the muscle. I was nervous about moving from Provo, Uta...

Craving

A list of things I'm craving: Something interesting to design A veggie sandwich on great bread that's too big to eat Chocolate chip cookies Riding a wave runner until my body aches Pizza, any shape, any quality Basketball season A solution to my landscaping dilemmas Another month of summer A way to easily hang bicycles from a 16-foot ceiling A compelling reason to use Google+

Driving East

I will wake up tomorrow morning, on Father’s Day, alone in Cheyenne without my family. I say this matter-of-factly. Designated days have only a light hold on me. An unexpected business trip that means being gone on Father’s Day? No problem. I'm not much for ceremony. More than once we have marked Father’s Day by splurging for a hotdog at Costco while filling up the minivan on a road trip. (Surely, Cheyenne has a Costco.) If I wake up emotional tomorrow morning, it's not because I'm alone on Father’s Day. It will be because of the cocktail of emotions I drank today. —— Driving across Wyoming was beautiful. Everything below the horizon looked groomed and green. The grass, the hills. the forests. A sea of green dusted with flecks of distant snowfields and antelope. (So many antelope.) Above the horizon, wild white and stormy black scratched across brilliant blue. The kind of sea and sky that softens your heart and tricks your mind.  I pulled off the highway at Little America f...