St. Agatha's Canned Goods Drive WC 259

St. Agatha’s Canned Goods Drive
WC: 259

“So, what do you think, honey?” I asked my wife as she rummaged through the pantry, piling canned goods in a bag.

“We don’t have time for this,” she said and continued her task.

“We could make time.”

She continued until the bag was brimming with cans and then opened another and began again.

“Can you read the clock, George? We must be to the church by noon, and it’s already eleven.”

St. Agatha’s was only ten minutes away.

“We have time.” I took her by the hand. “Sit, please.”

She sat down on the edge of a kitchen chair.

I began.

“Why is this more important than what I wanted to do today? It is my Saturday, too.”

“The church needs the money.”

“I need my wife.”

“George, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Then let’s do what I suggested.”

She got up and began purging again. We were in a stalemate.

“Okay, how about this,” I said, beginning my negotiation.

“I don’t want to hear about it. I just want to get these canned goods to the church.”

“You didn’t let me finish, dear. You never let me finish, dear, unless it’s something you know you will agree with, dear.”

She stopped and sat back down.

“Okay, what?”

“How about we drop off the canned goods at St. Agatha's first, and then come back home and do the other thing?”

I massaged her knotted shoulders.

After a bit of that, she said, “I guess that could work.”

By Saturday night, the garage was neat as a pin.