On Fire for You

“What’s this?” The Captain tossed his hat and coat by the door and picked up a folded pink paper from the table.

“It’s Valentine’s Day. Cupid left it for you.”

“What’s that smell?” He wrinkled his nose.

“Maybe Cupid was having a bad day.”

“It smells like gasoline.”

“Well if Cupid didn’t have to pump her own gas, it might smell like meatloaf.”

“We’re having meatloaf? Did you put the little heart made out of catsup on the top?”

“We don’t have any catsup. I was going to the store when I ran out of gas. At the gas station the note fell out of my pocket and blew under a pickup truck. When I bent down to get it back, I spilled gas on it.”

“I’m sorry you had a bad day. Why don’t we go out?”

“Because we’re having meatloaf. It’s your favorite.”

“But we don’t have any catsup. What did you put on top?”

“Strawberry jelly.”

“Oh.”

“That’s all we had that was red.”

“Maybe I should read the note.”

“Well, I was kind of annoyed by the time I finished it.”

“I see.” He tossed the note in a bowl on the table and touched it with the lighter we keep handy for starting the grill.

Hungry flames and the smell of burning gas flared and then receded.

He grinned. “Hottest love note I ever got. Let’s go eat.”

“Can we take your car?”

“Okay,” he put his arm around me and grinned as he guided me toward the door.

“But we’ll have to stop for gas.”

Bar None

Man was fearfully and wonderfully made. And God looked at man, rubbed his chin, and said, “Man is lonesome. He needs someone who can remember to put a new bar of soap in the shower.” So God made woman. A helpmate for the man; someone who could find the mustard behind the milk in the refrigerator, and who could produce two clean, matching socks from dust mites in the air at 6:30 a.m., and who would emerge from the shower with a $20 hot oil frizz-reduction hair conditioning treatment streaming down her shoulders to locate and unwrap a new bar of soap so that the next person would not have to shower using the last bit of dandruff shampoo as a body scrub. Only God knows why a man, who can remember the quarterly scores from every Super Bowl from the dawn of civilization to present day replays, cannot remember to replace the soap when he leaves the shower. Somewhere between reaching for the towel and stirring creamer into his coffee, his priorities shift.
But while God is chuckling over the soap sliver bit, woman is in the kitchen raising her hands to heaven and crying, “Lord, never mind the soap. Why can’t man learn to put the twist tie back on the bread? Why does he have to do that twirl and tuck thing with the bread wrapper? You know I hate that.”
And God smiled. “He’s innovative.”
Then woman heads to the laundry room to bring new life to dingy whites and to zap spaghetti spots with her miracle stain remover stick. And she cries to heaven again, “Lord, why can’t he simply place his dirty underwear in the laundry basket? Why must he do that foot-flip snatch and grab act with his boxers? You know I’m expected to applaud every single time he catches them.”
And God nodded knowingly. “He’s creative.”
“Okay, God, I get it. Those little things that make me crazier than a salesclerk on Black Friday are the things he uses to make a better way in life. But just between you and me, God, what about that thing with the remote? Why can’t he leave the TV on one channel for longer than it takes to focus on David Letterman’s tooth gap?”
“Oh, that’s easy, God replied. That’s to keep you from having to watch three straight hours of How to Make Your Own Bait on the Fishing Channel.”
“You ARE wise,” Woman whispered. “Tell me, though. In heaven will he wake up every morning scratching his backside?”
“I’m working on that one,” answered God pensively. “The trouble is we have a problem with everybody staying clean.”
“In heaven?” The woman was astounded. “How can that be?”
“Well,” sighed God. “Everybody’s so busy watching television and looking for the mustard in the refrigerator, that nobody ever remembers to put new soap in the shower.”