Whatever You Say

“I wonder how Margaret's doing since Charlie died,” said Mr. H. at dinner this evening.

“I’m sure she’s lonely,” I said, “but, on the other hand, she might be enjoying her new-found freedom. Could be she likes making her own decisions for a change.”

“That’s not very nice,” he scolded me.

“The truth’s the truth!" I said. "Think about it. He ruled the roost. They ate when he said, slept when he said, came and went whenever and wherever he said, watched what he wanted to watch on TV. Poor Margaret just went along with him on anything. To be honest, I felt a little sorry for her.”

“Well, I guess she cared a lot about him,” he said.

“I’m sure she did,” I agreed, “but I’m not convinced you have to give up being yourself just because you care about someone. Besides, how do you respect someone who lets you have your way all the time?”

“I guess you’d know the answer to that question.”

“What do you mean by that?” I asked.

“Think about it,” he answered, “how do you respect someone who lets you have your way all the time?”

“You’re not suggesting I get my way all the time, are you?" I said, indignantly.

“Of course not!" he said, the corners of his mouth turning up.

“Let’s talk about something else.”

And with a hint of triumph in his voice and laughter in his eyes, Mr. H. said,

“Whatever you say, dear.”