Ironing shirts

I have learned a great deal already in my brief time as a married women. It is safe to say that marriage has changed me greatly... for the better I believe and I certainly hope there is more to come. I came into this marriage as your basic idiot, trying desperatly to protect my own sense of self, resisting all forms of change because I viewed them as a threat to my identity. This attitude is not a recipe for success.
One of the ways this selfishness manifested itself was in the issue of ironing my husband's shirts for work. I did not think this was my responsibility (not in my job description) he did. Complicating matters is the fact that my husband is a perfectionist when it comes to anything involving starch. When my initial efforts did not pass quality control, he would instruct me with compassion and sensitivity. "Get it done right the first time. It is your job." I would respond with maturity and meekness . "Iron your own @*#$ shirts." Ahhhh the memories. So I am not sure how I finally came to realize that ironing his shirts was not a sign of personal weakness or 1940s roll play. It was, rather, one simple way for me to say, "Thank you for working hard. I love you dearly and knock 'em dead." I even graciously attended a tutorial on Ironing with Starch the Lamm Way. My husband gave the keynote address. I recieved an A- as my lab grade.

So I genuinely felt bad a couple of days ago when I recieved the following text message from my husband while he was in a meeting: YOU ONLY IRONED HALF OF MY SHIRT.