As I looked around the room all I could see were the imperfections around me; the dust on the table tops, an unfolded napkin on the table. I sighed: “does it never end” — then I folded the last table napkin to be folded and placed it next to the last plate waiting for what was stewing on the stove-top and took out my dust rag. It was only a Wednesday night meal but I wanted everything to be perfect. After a bit of final dusting I glanced around — pleased with the efforts of the day. It was approaching five o’clock so there was not much time to put every hair in place, straighten a skirt, dot a little lip stick and pinch two cheeks before I headed to the garage to swing open the doors. Soon a 1957 light blue Chevy came rolling in, crunching gravel under its tires and pulled into the opened garage. “He” was home to welcoming arms.
May years later I wonder if this really made any difference at all. And I wonder why I did it. What would have happened if the the tables were left dusty and the napkin unfolded? Would he have loved me less for it?
“Being happy doesn’t mean everything is perfect. It means you’ve decided to see beyond the imperfections.”