Less Than Perfect

I remember thinking her stockings looked like someone might drop a house on her, and suggested casually that she not wear the red slippers.  It had taken some convincing, because they were her favorite, but I insisted.

If anyone was going to take this witch out it should be the one who put up with her leaving the cap off the toothpaste, and the garage door open, while always forgetting to let the cat in before bed. It should be the one who had to listen to her nose whistle with each breath once she fell asleep. It should be the one who has seen her beautiful smile and dried her hot tears, because such acts of bravery should be rewarded and recognized.

I had thought this way, in the beginning, and plotted and planned the take the justice I was owed, but the more time goes by, the more endearing these little things become to me, so much so that when she looked tired this morning I asked her what was wrong, only to have her smile and pat my hand before answering kindly, “Your snoring makes it hard to sleep sometimes, dear, but I like being close to you at night more than I like sleeping.”

It made me think that maybe we are all less than perfect.

(c) Jo Anne Brown, December 13, 2016

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