“You’re doing that wrong,” he said as he leaned over my shoulder.

I’d enlisted his help to install the bed skirt between the mattress and boxsprings of our bed, a task that could only be accomplished with two people. We’d already removed the mattress and set it against the wall, and then I’d gotten a good look at the bed skirt and decided to run an iron over it.

I can probably count on both hands the number of times I’ve touched an iron in my lifetime, so I’m willing to concede that there probably is a right and wrong way to do it and mine is the latter.

“Here,” he finally huffed. “Give it to me.” And just like that I was lounging on the chair with my feet propped up and my mouth running 100 miles an hour while he murmured “uh huh” and methodically ironed 6 yards of grey cotton blend.

I don’t know if this is left over OCD from going through boot camp back when uniforms had to be pressed to perfection, but whatever it is, I’ll take it. And be exceedingly glad for every day there is another someone who fills in my gaps and does some things much better than I ever could.