(sub-titled "The Husband List")

We are at the morning table, smack dab in the middle of our Sunday morning routine. For those of you who are new to this journal, On Sundays, my wife likes to watch "Weekend Today" while I read the Sunday paper. We graze on fruits and pastries. I drink coffee, she has her favorite tea.

She paused the broadcast with the remote. I should know by now that signifies that I am expected to listen up, but I was deep into a news article about an action taken by our city council.

In fact, I was just about to interrupt HER to describe their latest folly when she interrupted me.

"Did you hear what I said?"

"Uh, no. Sorry. What did you say?"

A sigh. "I asked what was on your agenda today."

I look at the tv. Willie Geist is frozen on the screen with his mouth half open, a slight frown on his face. Not at a stopping point in the broadcast; like at a commercial. My coffee-soaked brain deduces that this is not a casual question. "Uh, the usual," I am cautiously feeling my way here. "What would you like to do?"

"Maybe today you could work on that list of things you have been promising to do."

Oh-oh. "Sure, help me to prioritize; what is at the top of the list?"

"Well, you could move that chest of drawers I have been asking you to do."

"What is wrong with where it is now?" (I should have just said 'sure'.)

"I keep stubbing my toe on it. It is too close to the corner." A note of exasperation has crept into her voice. "And then you could cover the porch furniture before the pollen season starts. You have been saying you would do that since last fall. And the car needs to be cleaned out before I go on my trip next weekend."

"Okay," I said. Sometimes it is best just to agree. I pick up the paper but she still has something on her mind. "You told me you were going to call the guy about trimming the bushes."

"Well, I can't do that on Sunday." I pat the paper until I find my pen under it, retrieve it and click it open. In the top margin I write 'move chest, porch, car, call Darrell.' I look over at her. The slight frown between her eyes has smoothed out. Folding the paper with the list at the top, I pick up my coffee cup and slide my chair back.

"Where are you going?"

"To my computer. I have to revise my story."

"I thought you were done with it?"

"Almost done, but I wasn't happy with it. I have an idea how to fix it."

I open up Google Drive and completely rewrite the story.

I often say my wife is my muse but I think maybe I should hold off on reading this one to her.

The only thing left from the original story is the title. I kind of liked that title.

So I kept it.