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The Order of Our Universe

My husband thought I was going to leave him because I learned how to turn on the TV.

Friday night, he was late coming home from work, and the seventh game of the World Series was starting—I was motivated. Two controls is one more than I can handle (I’ve learned not to look for an “on” button) but when he came through the door, there I was, watching TV.

“Hunh,” he said, since I’m the one whose been known to ask the TV repairmen to please turn off the TV before they leave because I don’t know how to do it.

Later in the weekend, the order of our universe was restored when I began reigning down curses on the head of the new printer. My husband walked in, sat cross-legged on the floor, and calmly figured it out.

His place in our marriage is secure . . . as if there were ever any doubt.

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