I'm Sorry

 

I’m Sorry

Our Christmas routine was the same every year.  I got the tree and she bought the poinsettias.   I hung the outside lights while she strung the tree inside.  That was about to change. 

She said, “I’m tired of these old sexist roles.  You get to do the fun stuff just because you’re a man.”

I said “I’m sorry.” She had never called me a man before.

She got the tree, but it didn’t fit on top of her compact car so she had to buy the smallest tree on the lot.  I laughed.  She glared.  

She said, “Why didn’t you tell me to take the truck?”

“I did tell you to take the truck.”

“But you didn’t convince me.”

“I’m sorry.”

I bought the poinsettias, but I got plastic ones we could re-use every year.

She said, “Plastic poinsettias?  Are you crazy?’

I said, “Yes.  Sorry.”     

She wasn’t quite tall enough to hang the outside lights, so she fell off the ladder into the bushes. 

She said, “Why did you get such a short ladder?”

“Sorry.” 

I burned the cookies and set off all the smoke detectors. 

She said, “What’s so hard about making cookies?  A child could do it.”

I said, “I’m not a child,” unconvincingly.

On Christmas morning we opened our gifts.  She gave me a fire extinguisher, and I gave her the tallest ladder on the market.