By Thomas V. Lerczak

Vince leaned against the kitchen counter, a drying towel in his hand, waiting for Annie to wash the breakfast dishes.  He watched out the window as a small woodpecker, in fits and starts, climbed a nearby oak tree.  Vince’s job was to dry the dishes and put them away.  It was a division of labor that naturally fell into place, because his washing technique was never able to reach Annie’s standards.  
          She scrubbed burnt butter, eggs, and cheese from the frying pan with a flat, hard plastic tool shaped like a square credit card, and said, “I love this thing.  It removes everything from the pan without scraping away the Teflon coating like a scouring pad would do.”
          “You know,” said Vince, “it was probably invented by a single mother juggling a couple of rambunctious toddlers.
          “That reminds me of my old friend Patty.  When her children were small, she invented a kind of straw that, I think, could only suck liquid in, but not blow it out.  As I recall, she came up with the idea because her kids were always shooting milk at each other through their straws.  She had a Patent on it and made a little money.”
          Annie said, “You can start drying now, you know.  Anytime.”
          Vince picked up a plate, gave it a careful inspection, and handed it to Annie, pointing with his index finger at a spot of cheese she had missed.  Annie jerked the plate from his hands and left him with a serious eye roll.
          “What’s that old saying?” said Vince, continuing with his previous line of thought.  “Mother is the necessity of invention.  That’s so true, isn’t it?”
          “Wait,” answered Annie.  “Something’s not right.  That makes no sense.  Think about it.”
          “Hey, I didn’t make it up.  That’s what people say.  It’s called an aphorism.  You’re not supposed to analyze it.”
          Annie handed the newly washed plate back to Vince and said, “I know what an aphorism is, and I know what you’re trying to say.  But it just doesn’t sound right.  Mother is the invention…No, that’s it not either.”
          “I’ve got it,” said Vince, as he dried the last of the utensils.  “Necessity is the mother of invention!”
          “I love the way your mind works.”
          “I’m special.”
          “Yes, you are.  And now that the dishes are done, I need to focus on the Rules of the Road for my driver’s test.” She opened the booklet, recently obtained at the local DMV, to page one.  “I’m really worried about this, Vince.  Do you know how long it’s been since I took a written driver’s test?”
          “Fifty years?”
          “Thanks a lot.”  Annie yanked the towel from Vince, folded it, and hung it up to dry.
          “You can do it,” said Vince.  “Remember the ant that could.”
          “What?  Could what?”  Annie shook her head.
          “I don’t know.  Climb up the hill?”
          “No, it’s the little engine that could.  The ant was carrying the rubber tree.”
          “Up the hill?”  Vince grabbed a cup which he had placed in the cupboard only a minute before for another coffee.
          Annie narrowed her eyes as she watched him prepare the coffee maker.
          “You’re impossible, Vincent.  And special.”
          “You know, my mother used to say the same thing.”