MaeElla saw her reflection in the dark glass of the microwave oven and paused to tweak a golden curl to make it hang enticingly just in front of her right ear.  She touched the bridge of her little tipped up nose with a floury finger.

"There you are," she said aloud, " A perfect little wife cooking a perfect little dinner for her hubby."

Before she went back to rolling out the pie crust, she reached into the pocket of her tiny ruffled apron to touch something hidden there.

Later, when the kitchen phone rang, she tucked the receiver into the hollow of her shoulder so she could talk and do the mushrooms at the same time.  It was her mother.

"Sweetie, I bet I know just what you're doing this very minute.  You're in the kitchen getting a scrumptious dinner for your hubby."

"Right, Mama.  Steak tonight.  And I made him a chocolate pie.  I used lard for the crust.  I do think it makes crust tastier, don't you?  And real whipping cream, too."

"Such a perfect little wife you are.  I hope Harley realizes how lucky he is to have you.  You know, a man as well off as he is could marry just about anyone.  And he chose you."

MaeElla rolled her eyes at the ceiling.  "Yes, Mama, I know."

"Well, give that fat ol' rascal a kiss from me.  See you soon, Sweetie.  Bye."

At five o'clock, Harley came home.  Dishes rattled in the cupboard as he stumped across the living room.  He wheezed something that might have been a greeting, lowered himself into his oversized Lazy-boy with a groan and stabbed at the remote with a beefy finger.

"Hi, darling," shouted MaeElla.  The evening news was too loud, as usual, "Here's your martini and some hors d'oeuvres I made, all ready for you."

She placed the tray on the coffee table within his reach but before she could dance out of range, he scooped her over onto his lap.  She giggled shyly and he nibbled her ear and murmured damply into her neck, "Umm - you smell good.  How's my perfect little wife?  What's for dinner?"

MaeElla wriggled free.  "Surprise tonight!  One of your favorites, darling.  Wait and see!"

"That cooking school was a good investment," said Harley through a mouthful of pate'.

Smiling, MaeElla nodded and reached into her apron pocket.

The dining room chair creaked as Harley leaned back from the table, wiping his mouth.  When MaeElla brought in the chocolate pie decorated with whipped cream and shaved chocolate, Harley cracked his usual joke.

"MaeElla, that pie looks good enough to eat.  I believe I could eat the whole thing."

"I made it just for you, dear," cooed MaeElla.

He didn't eat the whole thing then, but MaeElla knew he would finish it for a bedtime snack.

After the dishes were stacked in the dishwasher, and Harley was back dozing in front of the TV, MaeElla sat down at the kitchen table and pulled her treasure out of her apron pocket.  It was a Travel Brochure.  On the front was a  picture of a large white cruise ship approaching a silver beach with palm trees waving in a gentle breeze.  You could see a swimming pool in the prow of the boat.  Inside the brochure were shots of a stateroom which had a green satin bedspread on the huge queen size bed;  a dining room with glamorous people in evening dress dancing and dining by candlelight;  a young man standing by the ship's rail with a cocktail in his hand.

"Wow!" she whispered, patting her golden hair, "What a hunk!"

It was too early for bedtime.  MaeElla trailed into the living room and plumped into a chair to gaze unseeing at the TV.  There was someone shooting at someone else from a speeding car.  MaeElla yawned.

Harley lay back in his chair, gray hair ruffled over his pink balding head.  The remote lay on the floor under his finger tips.  He was snoring even louder than usual and MaeElla noticed that one corner of his mouth seemed strangely out of shape.

She went back to the TV.  The car had now gone over a cliff and burst into flames.  MaeElla frowned and after a minute went over to Harley.

"Harley.  Harley!  Wake up!"  She shook his shoulder and then slapped his round cheeks briskly.

When he didn't stir, she sauntered out to the kitchen to telephone her mother.

"Mama, " she wailed, "I can't wake Harley.  He is just lying there, snoring.  I don't know what to do."

"Call 911.  I'll be right over."

At the hospital, the doctor finally came out to the waiting room.  MaeElla and her mother were huddled in the corner of the couch.  They stood up as he came in.

"Well, Mrs. Ellery, I have good news.  Your husband didn't suffer too much damage from the stroke.  With your good care, we can keep him alive for a good many more years.

His speech is affected, of course, and he'll need a walker for a few months.  Naturally, he will have to be on a strict regimen of low fat foods.

MaeElla let out a shriek.  "He didn't die.  He didn't die.  It was too soon."  She dissolved into the comfort of her mother's arms in a flood of genuine tears.

Her mother said to the doctor over MaeElla's golden curls, "She's so relieved!  She adores him, you know.  It's one of those May-December marriages.  She's been a perfect little wife to him."