When I got married, I had a deal with the husband that he would fetch his own drycleaning, a deal by which he abides most of the time.
Every so often if he's running late he'll call and ask whether I can pick up his shirts before 7:00 pm since he won't make it.
This happened tonight. Being the perfectly accommodating, wonderful wife that I am, I agreed right away.
"Sure, no problem," I answered.
Our drycleaner, not atypical of many, is owned by a Korean couple; I've not met her husband, but the woman is extraordinarily full of personality.
She didn't recognize me when I walked in, onaccoutubecuza the deal I have with my husband (I just don't go that often).
"Herro," she brightly greeted me.
"Hi there!" I answered just as enthusiastically, as enthusiastically as is possible when one is picking up shirts from the dry cleaners.
"Rast name?" she asked me. I answered.
"Furse name?" she asked me. I answered.
"Oh," she exclaimed, blushing. "Your husband handsome guy! Tall? Dark? That him?"
"Yup," I said, proud of the husband.
"You a rucky girl, you know?"
"I am lucky," I answered.
I told her I had met him when he was 16 years old.
I was flattered.
"Wow," she said thoughtfully, "I guess you have some good qualities to have handsome guy like that, huh?"
"Thanks," I started to say.... wait a minute...