I Love Lucy. The show and the lady. She's been making me laugh for years and continues to do so via reruns. The other morning there was an episode where Lucy develops a huge inferiority complex. I listened while I ironed my clothes, being careful not to burn a hole in my shirt (like I've done before.)
She tried to tell a joke and bombed because she screwed up the punchline. When she, Ricky, Fred and Ethel sat down to play cards, no one wanted to partner with her--because she was a lousy card player. She cooked breakfast but used the wrong spice on the eggs. Broke the toaster so tried to make toast in the oven and (you guessed it) burned it.
She broke down in Lucy (waaah) tears, lamenting to Ricky, "I'm a horrible wife. I can't do anything right."
It struck a chord with me because most of the things listed above are all true of me. I walked into the kitchen where Steve was making his own breakfast. (He's smarter than Ricky). I asked him, "Am I a Lucy?" He hugged me and assured me I was not.
However, that same night I set a cup of very hot tea on his antique nightstand using a tissue as a coaster. I thought it would suffice. It didn't. I basically burned the wood. There is now a white circle there that we can't get rid of. Then last night we had chinese food delivered. There were several cartons and I was looking for my chicken and broccoli. Steve came in and looked at the carton containing his curry shrimp. "You opened this, didn't you?" He could tell because the lid where you tuck it closed was torn. Oops.
I'm thinking he was being kind when he assured me I'm not domestically challenged. I'm pretty sure I'm a Lucy. I do not, however, suffer from a huge inferority complex. In the words of Popeye... I yam what I yam.