The blathering idiot sat in the coin-operated launder mat watching his clothes dry. It had been a tough time since Valentine’s Day. He had forgotten to get his girl friend anything: no card, no flowers, no gift no matter how inexpensive, and though she was willing to forgive him, she said they needed to talk, and they would do so on the day he brought his laundry over.
The blathering idiot knew what talk meant. It meant that he, the blathering idiot, would need to make amends. He came prepared to offer everything: two-dozen flowers, three cards, an expensive dinner, an entire weekend watching “chick flicks.” Only thing she had to do was tell him what she wanted.
What she wanted from him was something he hadn’t anticipated. She simply said he wasn’t being romantic enough in the relationship and what did he intend to do about it?
The blathering idiot thought about it.
His girl friend waited.
“If I wore my heart on my sleeve, would you launder it?”
He stared at his pile of dirty laundry, hoping for inspiration.
Finally, he remembered that she’d often told him that while she wore her heart on her sleeve, he seemed to keep his tucked away somewhere, so he said something he thought was witty, something he thought would break the tension, something that might make her laugh and then they would forget about the question.
He said, “If I wore my heart on my sleeve, would you launder it?”
For the foreseeable future, the blathering idiot was laundering his own heart at a coin-operated place of his choosing.
He found no inspiration as he watched his shirts tumble dry.
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