by NM

Created on: November 11, 2008   Last Updated: December 20, 2011

"Ruthie, don't forget to pick me up some cashews when you go to the store," Dick directed, as he buttoned his crisp white dress shirt. "Help me tie my tie, will ya?"

Naturally, Ruth obliged. She then handed him his coffee and a packed lunch, and kissed his cheek as he rushed out the door. The house was now quiet, save for the faint tick-tock of the grandfather clock in the family room.

Ruth got to work sorting a week's worth of laundry. She knew the laundry day routine. Blacks. Whites. Colors. Delicates. Throw em in the washer. Add detergent. Soak. Rinse. Spin. Pull em out. Into the dryer they go. Repeat.

Ruth stopped for a moment. The pile was bigger this time. She noticed in the pile a skirt she had worn two weeks ago. Had she forgotten to do laundry last week? Her mind felt clouded.

She couldn't take it anymore. For years she'd been washing and pressing his damn shirts. Cooking his meals. Waiting on him hand and foot. She'd been at this point before, but just continued her routine, not knowing how to change it.

Today was like any other day. She cooked him breakfast and saw him off to work, and then began her morning chores. They were empty nesters these days the kids long out of school and off with new lives of their own. It was lonely during the day. Things made more sense when she had a family to raise. Now, after fifty-two years of marriage, she felt stuck.

What had she made of her life? Over 20,000 loads of laundry; 60,000 meals; tied a damn tie 20,000 some odd times; and probably bought about 1,000 jars of damn cashews. Yea, she actually did the math. So, what?

She was now 74 years old. What was the point in changing now?

"Bzzzz!" the washer signaled.

Ruth's mouth dropped in astonishment as she pulled the wet clothes from the machine. Dick's shirts were pink. As she continued to switch the load, she found the culprit: a red blouse and a bath towel. She never washed towels with clothes.

"Damn it!" Ruth threw the whites back into the wash. She had to bleach them. Dick needed these shirts for work this week.

"Lizzie!" she yelled upstairs. No answer. "Lizzie, I need you to run to the store to get a few things for dinner." No answer. "Lizzie!" Ruth yelled even louder.

"Ruth? Ruth, are you okay?" Dick, hearing the commotion, came in from the front porch.

"Where's Lizzie?" Ruth asked. "Wha-what are you doing home? Where's your shirt? I just tied your tie."

"Ruth, what's going on?" Dick placed his hands on her shoulders.

Her eyes swelled with tears.

"I'm sorry. I turned all your work shirts pink and I need Lizzie to get cashews from the store because you asked me to get them and the laundry is piling up and-"

"Ruth, wha-," Dick was puzzled.

"No, Dick! I'm sick of this! Everyday I get you ready for work and I make your lunch and I tie your tie and I do your goddamn laundry and buy your damn cashews and wait on you and am nothing but your wife!"

Dick hugged Ruth as she sobbed.

"Ruth, honey, I've been retired for 9 years now. Lizzie lives in Chicago, remember? Anne comes to do our laundry for us every couple weeks. I can't eat cashews anymore," Dick held her tighter as he tried to help her remember.

"Oh," Ruth looked up at him and then buried her head back in his shoulder.

He gently kissed her head.

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