As I write this, my wife is out being nice.
Mrs. Pincus is the nicest person I know. She will do anything for anyone at any time, even if it inconveniences her. She rarely, if ever, says "no" to a favor. She has offered rides to various destinations, as close as the local post office to as far as Florida. Seriously. She offers assistance in moving, packing items for mailing, feeding your dog, watching your kids — you name it. She has proposed accommodations at our home to visiting friends, relatives and even passing acquaintances who would be passing through our area, much to my disapproval. Can you name someone as reliable and consistent? I didn't think so.
Last night, as Mrs. P and I were exiting a movie at a quarter to midnight, a friend of hers sent one of those "this needs more information" texts asking for a call, if it's not too late. Of course, Mrs. P called.
Her friend owns an antique store five minutes from our house. My wife, who has run a successful eBay business* for over a decade, frequents this woman's store and has made a few purchases — some for resale, some for our own home decor. It seems this woman had placed listings for a number of items in her store on several local Facebook "yard sale" pages with the enticement of "$20 Blowout Sale." All evening, while Mrs. P and I suffered through Batman vs. Superman, the antique dealer received countless inquiries regarding the items she was offering. Shaken by the out-of-the-ordinary amount of attention her merchandise was getting, she turned to my wife — the reliable, level-headed, business-minded, voice of reason. She asked if Mrs. P could come to her store on Sunday morning, as she was expecting a Black Friday-like crowd to be banging at her door, hungry for bargains. She felt she needed help wrangling the expected crowds and knew that Mrs. Pincus, with her years of experience running her family's busy retail store, would be the perfect choice. Of course, my wife agreed. I wouldn't have. But, I'm not nice.
Bright and early (for a Sunday), my wife went to the antique store. No one came. No one. The owner and Mrs. Pincus sat and talked for several hours, totally uninterrupted by customers. Resigned to the fact that her panic was for naught, she relieved my spouse of her duty. She came home, but not before offering her services again. Because she is nice.
When I tell my wife she is the nicest person I have ever known (and I do often), she quickly protests. "I complain," she says. I explain that complaining has nothing to do with being nice. Complaining is a part of human nature. Everyone complains. It's an outlet of frustration over the imperfect world in which we live. Everyone complains, but not everyone complains and completes the task anyway and continues to be nice. Only the nice people. Most people don't even make the offer to be nice. But, my wife is nice. I'm one of those other people.
You know the old expression: "Opposites attract?" Well, me and the Mrs. are living proof.
Isn't that nice?
* No, she's not gonna sell your stuff for you. Nobody's that nice.
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