My husband called me from his office when he got to work this morning. “Are you upstairs, by any chance?”
“No, I’m still at the breakfast table, reading the paper. Want me to go upstairs?”
“Yes, please, if you don’t mind. On my dresser is one of my business cards that I wrote a list of to-do things on. Could you read them to me?”
I went upstairs and looked on his dresser. No business card. “Honey, it’s not here.”
“Really? Are you sure? I thought I left it there. I wonder if I left it in my shirt pocket. What shirt was I wearing yesterday?”
“The pink one,” I said, confidently.
“That’s right,” he said. “It was the pink one. Could you go look in the hamper?”
“Oh, it must have been the blue one because it’s on top,” I said when I got to the hamper.
“Yes! That was the one. Is the card in the pocket?”
“Great, now read it to me.”
“Chersick trcfio. Budlt asscuer contrnt. Child visl dom (locl & unerlck feative), and Chicago.”
“Could you read that again? I couldn’t understand you.”
“Honey, I’m doing the best I can with what I got.” After nearly 42 years of marriage, you’d think I’d have learned to read my husband’s writing, but his writing has gotten worse and so has my eyesight.”
It took awhile, but together the two of us got his notes more or less deciphered. I love how we complement (and compliment) each other.