Effort will take you to promised land

“Herb, I’d like to talk to you about something,” she said.

Is there anything more ominous than that sentence and those nine words? “Something” could be anything, everything and something in between. Those nine words could be nothing much or nothing more than an invitation to enter the relationship Twilight Zone.

“I don’t think you should make the bed anymore,” she said.

You could have knocked me over with a feather or tickled me with it. I wasn’t sure what to think. I was somewhere between thrilled, insulted and ready to burst into song.

First, I had to go Actor Johnson. Sell concern. Feign injury of the emotional variety.

“Why don’t you want me to make the bed anymore?” I asked in a smallish voice.

She paused, which made me think I had sold concern. No reason to wound me anymore than she thought she already had. “I appreciate you making an effort,” she said. “Effort.” When somebody uses the word “effort,” it’s rarely good unless you’re in third grade or are the last competitor to come in in the triathlon. Effort is a stand-alone, the word used to describe performance when all else fails and no other word fits.

“Effort” means not only do you have no natural aptitude for the task and no talent, but you have no chance of developing either one no matter how much effort you put in.

“The sheets are usually lopsided,” she said. “Sometimes the bedspread is longer on one side than the other. “

Stop. I can’t take this anymore. You have crushed my spirit and ruined my dreams, but does this mean, I’m freed of the responsibility of making the bed?

I had started helping with the bed about 10 years ago. It was one of those “it’s the least I could do” moves. Apparently the least I could do was the least that I did.

I had mixed results even by my own lax standards. I would walk back and forth across the foot of the bed like the night watchman in a lighthouse searching for life on the horizon. I lengthened, pulled, tugged, crinkled and stretched, logging more miles than a Costco employee ferrying the extra sleeve of bagels for a customer one discount short.

I had my successes, sure I did, I wasn’t a complete bed-making loser but oftentimes my strategy devolved into covering up this sin or that shortcoming.

That’s what the decorative pillows are for. Some people use the pillows as if they were tying a bow onto an expertly wrapped present. For others, the pillows are a splashy bandage hiding a wound that won’t heal.

Band-aids are fine but not fine enough because when the decorative pillows are removed, the full housekeeping horror is revealed, and even the art of distraction doesn’t hide a bed that looks like it was made by somebody without a design sense but with a morning drinking problem.

I could try to do better or I could take my medicine, which was less cod liver oil than spoonful of sugar. I had been fired and this was no time to take up my termination status with HR given the thickness of my personnel file.

It made me wonder about other household chores. How about washing dishes? I don’t think I’m a pro there. When there are too many suds, sometimes I forget to scour the sink afterward and the next morning the sink bears witness of somebody who couldn’t stay awake long enough to finish the job.

I had already been relieved of most cooking duties, so there was nothing to shoot for there.

In the meantime, the bed has never looked better. Neater, smoother, more inviting. I’d like to think I had something to do with this. The lesson is clear: With effort, anything is possible.