I had a run in with a little old lady the other day at the market. It wasn’t verbal, otherwise I would not have been able to participate anyway. It was all about the squint of her eyes.
Alan and I were walking through the stalls at the market. It was a nice warm day — this is the rainy season so we enjoy them when they happen — and we were without jackets. Alan’s permanent press shirts get wrinkled here, not exactly sure why but assume it’s the tiny washer/dryer combo and no room to fluff clothes.
As we were passing a group of three older ladies, he was in front of me, one of the ladies caught my eye, she gave me a look of disapproval, pointed at the back of his wrinkled shirt, then tsk-tsk’d me as she shook her head from side to side, her curly gray hair bouncing around her frowning, squinty-eyed face.
Her disapproval of my duties to Alan’s laundry kind of amused me at first. I mean, for heaven’s sake, I’m married to a full-grown adult who can wash, dry and iron his own clothing. We’ve been married nearly 13 years and the only time I’ve ironed something for him is if I was already using the thing for myself and asked if he needed anything pressed. Alan is fully capable of ironing his shirts in France, too.
But by the following Saturday, when Alan was getting ready to hit the market and pulled a shirt out of the closet that had a wrinkle on the back, I grabbed it and said, “hold on, just let me hit it with the iron first, can’t have the little old ladies at the market tsk-tsk’ing me again.”
I’m still a little amazed that I caved to peer-pressure from a little old lady. But, I alao avoided looks of disapproval from the gray-haired crowd at the market this time, so . . . win-win, and Alan gets wrinkle-free shirts!