In my defense, Mary’s handwriting is at best barely coherent, at worst indecipherable. Whenever she leaves me a list, it is always a guessing game as to what she actually intends. Over the years I have become reasonably adept at figuring out what she has scratched on the paper, but sometimes even my best guess is far from correct. When possible I ask for an interpretation if she is aviailable to give one. Other times I am left to decode the hieroglyhics as best I can.
Today when I went to the supermarket to do the weekly food shopping I had in hand the list she had made out the night before. I’ll admit I should have reviewed the list with her, knowing how much trouble I’ve had in the past, but I didn’t, so sue me. I get to the store and think as I look at the list, ok that makes sense,”fine cabernet and steak.” I’m thinking that will make a nice birthday dinner for me. So I pick out a nice bottle and a couple of ribeyes and start looking forward to my birthday dinner.
When she got home this afternoon she asks if I got everything on the list and I proudly explain that I did indeed. As she usually does, since she doesn’t trust me, she starts going down the list from memory and when she gets to the birthday cake I start to break out in a cold sweat of dread, somehow knowing that I have screwed up again.
Apparently the list said “find a birthday cake. “ I told you her handwriting was terrible.
How was I supposed to know that I was expected to buy my own birthday cake? I don’t even like cake that much. Certainly not as much as a good steak and a glass of wine. So maybe my subconscious was at work, substituting what I really wanted.
I suggested that we stick a candle in the steak while she toasts my birthday with that fine cabernet I selected.
Luckily she forgave me (without admitting any fault of her own for sending me to the store with an unreadable list) and went out and selected a cake for me. So now we have the best of all possible worlds---steak, wine, and cake. What more could a guy ask for?