Girls Gone Stupid

By Lisa Curry

Over the past week, I've cheered my sons through four baseball games, sailed the Three Rivers on the Gateway Clipper Mother's Day brunch cruise, washed, dried and folded seven loads of laundry (including four pairs of grass-and-dirt-stained white baseball pants), done the weekly grocery shopping, paid bills, delivered local election results on live television, finalized a 612-page electrical catalog, typed six pages of minutes from my writers group's last board meeting, attended another board meeting for the same writers group, and prepared a presentation on writing catalog copy for afore-mentioned writers group's annual conference.

I am woman, hear me roar.

What I haven't done is write my blog. As I was racing home from work yesterday, I tried to think of a subject, but all I could think about was how tired and stressed I was. And wonder when I would ever learn to quit being so stupid and just say NO. That reminded me of a proposed anthology for which I submitted a story a couple years ago. The anthology, which had a great title, "Girls Gone Stupid: Dumb Things Smart Women Do," never happened, and I never knew what else to do with the story. It's been sitting idle on my hard drive ever since, but today it's going to come to my rescue. So without further ado...

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ONLY AN IDIOT

By Lisa Curry

My husband accuses me of only listening to half of what he tells me. I’ve always denied that, but if there is any truth to it, it’s an occupational hazard. I’m a writer. Even when I’m not writing, I’m often thinking about a story I’m working on, instead of paying attention to what’s going on around me. That must have been the case one December a few years back.

My husband, Glen, came home from Christmas shopping at the mall. “I saw a pair of gloves that match the jacket you got me for my birthday,” he said, referring to an expensive designer ski jacket I’d purchased at a bargain price from an outlet store.

I’d already finished my Christmas shopping for him, but a few days later, I went to the mall to buy the gloves. To my dismay, they were very expensive -- half what I’d paid for the jacket, in fact -- and not on sale. I didn’t think they were worth the price and was reluctant to buy them.

But Glen clearly wanted the gloves, or he wouldn’t have mentioned them. Only an unloving wife could ignore such an obvious hint. I gritted my teeth and paid the outrageous sum.

On Christmas morning, Glen opened the other gifts I’d bought him and seemed very happy with them. The last package contained the gloves. Eagerly anticipating his reaction, I watched him tear off the wrapping paper and open the cardboard box.

He laughed.

I was stunned. “What’s wrong? Did I get the wrong gloves? Weren’t those the ones you wanted?”

When he finally stopped laughing, Glen looked at the gloves, looked at me, and shook his head. “Lisa, I told you, you only listen to half of what I say.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked. “You said you saw gloves that matched your jacket. Those are the gloves!”

“Yes, they are, but apparently you didn’t hear the rest of what I said.”

“What else did you say?”

Glen smiled and kissed my forehead. “What I said was, ‘Only an idiot would pay that much for a pair of gloves’!”

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That's my stupid story. Let's hear yours.