Practice

Practice

Jack put down the paper. He glanced at Marcie.

“It says here it takes ten thousand hours to get proficient in a skill.”

Marcie looked up from preparing supper. “Really? Who said that?”

“I don’t know. Someone in the paper.”

“That’s a lot of hours. What kinds of skills?” She stirred the soup, checked on the muffins in the oven.

Jack reread the article. “It says things like studying to be a doctor, playing an instrument, being a teacher. You know, stuff like that.”

“Uh huh. I guess that makes sense.”

“You know the old joke. ‘How do you get to Carnegie Hall?’ Ever heard it?”

“I know you’ll tell me.”

“Practice, practice, practice.” He waited for a laugh, when none came he continued. “So I got to thinking about this rule. How many years have we been married?”

Marcie stopped her cooking. “Really? Is this some kind of joke?”

“Hear me out now. I know it’s at least ten. So that tells me you have to put in at least a thousand hours a year of practicing making supper to get proficient at it.”

“And your point?”

“I think you need more practice,” Jack said with a straight face. He immediately regretted the entire conversation as the pot of soup landed in his lap.



W/C 215