You've Got Mail
24/11/07 18:44
My husband is a morning person. Years ago we
discovered the best way to guarantee he remained
happy was for me to stay in bed until after he left
for work. That way there was no chance I could ruin
his good mood.
However, when we have houseguests, I feel compelled to get up early and make breakfast because I don't want people to know I don't do that every morning. I dutifully stumble around the kitchen making coffee, buttering toast and setting out cereal. I try to say as little as possible because I don't trust my tongue until after I've had caffeine in massive doses. That usually takes about an hour.
However, when we have houseguests, I feel compelled to get up early and make breakfast because I don't want people to know I don't do that every morning. I dutifully stumble around the kitchen making coffee, buttering toast and setting out cereal. I try to say as little as possible because I don't trust my tongue until after I've had caffeine in massive doses. That usually takes about an hour.
You've Got Mail
My husband is a morning person. Years ago we discovered the best way to guarantee he remained happy was for me to stay in bed until after he left for work. That way there was no chance I could ruin his good mood.
However, when we have houseguests, I feel compelled to get up early and make breakfast because I don't want people to know I don't do that every morning. I dutifully stumble around the kitchen making coffee, buttering toast and setting out cereal. I try to say as little as possible because I don't trust my tongue until after I've had caffeine in massive doses. That usually takes about an hour.
Ten years ago, Bob, a pastor from another city, was invited to spend a night in our home. He won our hearts by bringing candy for the kids and helping with dishes. When Bob bounced into my kitchen with a face-splitting grin early the next day, it was evident he loved morning. One look at me should have told Bob that I did not share that view.
I was slumped against the cupboard, squinting in the harsh light of dawn. Cheeks ashen, hair askew, I wore yesterday's rumpled clothes as I huddled over the kettle, waiting for the life-giving elixir of that first cup of tea. Just as the kettle began to sing I remembered that three days earlier I had sworn off caffeine. Bob heard me moan and deduced that I needed cheering up.
“Connie!” he hallooed. “Let's thank God for this beautiful day!” Yanking on the cord, the window shades flew up with a thundering thwack. Bob threw his arms wide, and bellowed heavenward: “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine; you make me haaappeee….”
“Drop dead,” I croaked.
Undaunted, Bob lustily continued: “…when skies are graaaaaaay! You'll never knoooow deeeeaaar…”
I dropped my head into my hands.
My husband decided he and Bob would go out for breakfast. He piloted me back to bed and they left. Later that day, Bob flew home before I had a chance to explain. My husband drove him to the airport since he was also leaving on a flight an hour later.
All day I regretted my shabby behavior and wondered how I could apologize. I thought about phoning but I was afraid I might cry and further embarrass myself. Without my husband there to comfort or advise me, I fretted and did nothing. Just before bedtime, it came to me in a flash: “We have email!” I remembered. “And Bob has it too.”
Email was relatively new. My husband had tried repeatedly to teach me how to use it but I was always too busy to listen. “How hard can it be?” I wondered. After 30 minutes of clicking randomly, I found myself in the email program. By this time I was so frustrated and near giving up that I gave no forethought to what I would say. I just wanted to get it over with and go to bed.
Dear Bob,
I must apologize for being so cranky this morning. The way I treated you bothered me all day especially since my husband is out of town. I hope you can forgive me. I should have warned you that whenever I go off caffeine it has a bad effect on my mood. I hope you will stay overnight again.
Still friends?
Connie
I found Send Mail and clicked. I gasped as I saw my confession winging its way to a long list of names. I had written my letter in the “reply to all” mode in my husband's mailbox. Bob's letter went to every Southern Baptist pastor in Canada who received a popular weekly prayer letter from national headquarters. Paralyzed with horror, I never even thought to pull the plug or turn the computer off.
The phone began to ring early the next day. Bob called but was laughing so hard I couldn't make out what he was trying to say. I think I heard the word forgiveness somewhere amid the guffaws. From coast to coast I received calls from pastors who thanked me; they said they hadn't laughed so hard in years. Their enjoyment did little to ease my humiliation.
I stopped answering the phone and let the machine get it. My husband's message was exactly what I needed to hear: “You're probably ready to let me teach you how to use email now, eh? And by the way, if you haven't done it already, make yourself a cup of tea.”
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My husband is a morning person. Years ago we discovered the best way to guarantee he remained happy was for me to stay in bed until after he left for work. That way there was no chance I could ruin his good mood.
However, when we have houseguests, I feel compelled to get up early and make breakfast because I don't want people to know I don't do that every morning. I dutifully stumble around the kitchen making coffee, buttering toast and setting out cereal. I try to say as little as possible because I don't trust my tongue until after I've had caffeine in massive doses. That usually takes about an hour.
Ten years ago, Bob, a pastor from another city, was invited to spend a night in our home. He won our hearts by bringing candy for the kids and helping with dishes. When Bob bounced into my kitchen with a face-splitting grin early the next day, it was evident he loved morning. One look at me should have told Bob that I did not share that view.
I was slumped against the cupboard, squinting in the harsh light of dawn. Cheeks ashen, hair askew, I wore yesterday's rumpled clothes as I huddled over the kettle, waiting for the life-giving elixir of that first cup of tea. Just as the kettle began to sing I remembered that three days earlier I had sworn off caffeine. Bob heard me moan and deduced that I needed cheering up.
“Connie!” he hallooed. “Let's thank God for this beautiful day!” Yanking on the cord, the window shades flew up with a thundering thwack. Bob threw his arms wide, and bellowed heavenward: “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine; you make me haaappeee….”
“Drop dead,” I croaked.
Undaunted, Bob lustily continued: “…when skies are graaaaaaay! You'll never knoooow deeeeaaar…”
I dropped my head into my hands.
My husband decided he and Bob would go out for breakfast. He piloted me back to bed and they left. Later that day, Bob flew home before I had a chance to explain. My husband drove him to the airport since he was also leaving on a flight an hour later.
All day I regretted my shabby behavior and wondered how I could apologize. I thought about phoning but I was afraid I might cry and further embarrass myself. Without my husband there to comfort or advise me, I fretted and did nothing. Just before bedtime, it came to me in a flash: “We have email!” I remembered. “And Bob has it too.”
Email was relatively new. My husband had tried repeatedly to teach me how to use it but I was always too busy to listen. “How hard can it be?” I wondered. After 30 minutes of clicking randomly, I found myself in the email program. By this time I was so frustrated and near giving up that I gave no forethought to what I would say. I just wanted to get it over with and go to bed.
Dear Bob,
I must apologize for being so cranky this morning. The way I treated you bothered me all day especially since my husband is out of town. I hope you can forgive me. I should have warned you that whenever I go off caffeine it has a bad effect on my mood. I hope you will stay overnight again.
Still friends?
Connie
I found Send Mail and clicked. I gasped as I saw my confession winging its way to a long list of names. I had written my letter in the “reply to all” mode in my husband's mailbox. Bob's letter went to every Southern Baptist pastor in Canada who received a popular weekly prayer letter from national headquarters. Paralyzed with horror, I never even thought to pull the plug or turn the computer off.
The phone began to ring early the next day. Bob called but was laughing so hard I couldn't make out what he was trying to say. I think I heard the word forgiveness somewhere amid the guffaws. From coast to coast I received calls from pastors who thanked me; they said they hadn't laughed so hard in years. Their enjoyment did little to ease my humiliation.
I stopped answering the phone and let the machine get it. My husband's message was exactly what I needed to hear: “You're probably ready to let me teach you how to use email now, eh? And by the way, if you haven't done it already, make yourself a cup of tea.”
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