by Jim Whitehouse
“Everyone is good at something,” says Lyle Pratt as we finish lunch at the cafe. “Except me—I’m good at everything.”
“Right,” I say. “Except for all the stuff you mess up.”
“Mm-hmm,” says Lyle. “Name one.”
“Wallpapering,” I say.
“Everyone is bad at hanging wallpaper,” he says.
“Good point,” I say. “But I’ve seen you wash dishes. A dog does a better job.”
“That’s why I let my dog do the dishes,” says Lyle.
“You do make a good point about everyone being better than average at something,” I say. “And I’ll toss out a corollary.”
“Larry who?” says Lyle, playing dumb.
“Here it is,” I say. “Everyone is also worse than average at doing something. Except me.”
“Sure, and I’m perfect too,” says Lyle. “You make a good point, though. I’m no good at playing the xylophone.”
“Truthfully, I have many weaknesses, but I’ll tell you my worst, as was evident leading up to Christmas.”
“What is it?”
“Wrapping presents,” I say. “No matter how hard I try, any present I wrap ends up looking like a big lumpy potato on top of a camel.”
“What? Wrapping presents is easy,” says Lyle. “Cut the paper to the right size, fold it this way, fold it that way, a little tape and BINGO!”
“Yeah, I know HOW to do it. I just CAN’T do it,” I say. “I never cut the paper the right size. The tape gets wadded up. The folds are crooked. There are big gaps where the box shows through the wrapping paper. Awful.”
“I could give you a lesson,” he offers. “But only if you teach me how to play a xylophone.”
“Playing a xylophone or a bagpipe would be a felony if I were King. And as far as teaching me to wrap presents, I had lessons from the Grand Master.”
“Who?”
“My late father-in-law, Ed,” I say. “He was amazing. Not only did the presents he wrapped display perfect corners and wrinkle free surfaces, but the patterns all line up so you couldn’t even find the seams where the edges of the paper came together. When he passed on, the world lost its best package wrapper.”
“Hmmm. So here’s a question: How are you at making a bed?” says Lyle.
“Okay, I guess,” I say. “After I get the wet socks out of the corners of the fitted sheets, that is.”
“Well, making a bed is a lot like wrapping a present,” says Lyle.
“And pounding a nail into a board is a lot like playing the xylophone, only it sounds better,” I reply. “Two different things.”
“You really dislike xylophones, don’t you?” says Lyle.
“Not as much as I dislike wrapping presents,” I say.
“You should buy those gift bags,” says Lyle. “Just drop the present in the bag, stuff some colored tissue paper in the top and– Bob’s your uncle.”
“I’ve tried that many times, but after I stuff the tissue paper in the top the bag looks like a rotten pumpkin. Those nice square corners of the bag end up looking like your face, and that isn’t pretty,” I say. “Now, it’s your turn to tell me what you are worst at doing.”
“Easy,” he says, standing up and pulling his jacket on. “Paying for lunch.”
With that, he leaves, proving his point.
