The Good Robert Givith and . . .

This morning, I woke up and Robert walked in wearing his bathrobe. He said, “Sleepin’?” I said yes. He said, “I’ll tuck you in,” and he did. It’s the only time I remember ever really being tucked in. He tucked all around the edges and then he did the feet. At last he gave my foot a little shake and said, “Well, I gotta get some shoes,” and left the room. Often when he is almost completely undressed he’ll say he needs shoes. He’ll stand in front of me in his boxers and a t-shirt and say, “I don’t have any shoes.” And I’ll say, “Or pants,” or, “You sure don’t,” or, “Shoes don’t really go with that outfit.”
But my point is, starting the day with Robert tucking me in made me feel so good. Until I walked into the kitchen and Robert was trying to be helpful by putting the lid back on the garbage can (which is not easy for him by the way). I knew that the person who took the lid off wanted it off because the person was preparing to empty the trash. So I took the lid from Robert. Just then the person walked in and saw me standing with the lid in my hands and said, “I was going to empty that JON,” And he or she grabbed the lid out of my hand. I cannot write in a tone as huffy as the original. I felt like the guy who walks in on a murder scene and picks up the gun just as the cops arrive. With a few words this person erased the wonderful feeling given to me by Robert. So I bought this person a peach turnover.