I Said It Would Only Take a Minute

It was something quick.

At least that’s what I told myself.

Just a small thing I needed to fix real fast. Nothing complicated, nothing that required a whole process.

He looked at it and said, “You might want to do that a different way.”

I shook my head.

“It’s fine. This will take like a minute.”

Because in my head, it was already done.

I started working on it, moving fast, trying to just get through it.

At first, it seemed fine.

Everything looked like it was going the way I expected.

Then one small thing didn’t line up.

Not a big deal.

I adjusted it.

Kept going.

Then something else shifted.

Now it wasn’t lining up at all.

I paused for a second, looked at it, and tried to figure out how it went from “easy” to “not making any sense.”

He was nearby.

Quiet.

Which somehow made it worse.

I tried fixing it without saying anything.

Moved one piece.

Then another.

Now it looked worse than before.

I just stood there staring at it, already knowing.

What should’ve taken a minute was now going to take way longer.

I sighed and said his name.

He walked over, took one look, and didn’t react.

Just adjusted a couple things, slowed it down, and fixed it the right way.

Took him maybe two minutes.

I watched the whole thing.

Then said, “Don’t.”

He nodded.

But we both knew.

My husband was right.