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Frozen Food Aisle

I learned something the

other night in the

 frozen food aisle. It

had nothing to do

with peas or tv

dinners or ice cream.

My wife pushed the cart,

I trailed behind, unsure

what she wanted.

Forward, back, sideways –

I couldn’t get out

of her way. The other

side of the aisle seemed

safer. No chance of

her “Why are you in

the way again?” look

pinning me to the

frosted doors over there.

A man stood by his

heaping cart, his wife

a few cabinets

away, and watched.

“You ever feel like

a left shirt pocket?”

he said. A grin broke

out as I replied,

“Sure do.” We shared a

laugh reserved for husbands

who wait for wives to

finish a task the male

mind cannot comprehend.

They had been married

for 37 years.

Their faces were

identical. My wife

and I – seven months

in – still aren’t alike.

But even after

all those years, sometimes

you just have to wait.

Useless. But content.

 

October 2002

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