"Kerfluffle" -- a Commotion, Fuss or Bother

Janet taught me the word. And on my own I learned how to escape the trouble that word means.
 
Note this example of my sterling common sense. Thus I reasoned brilliantly, I think, that the stairs to our basement make really a superior laundry chute  For I pitched – as had grown my wont to do – some shirts and socks and other items down my well-loved way, when that day a stentorian voice caught me off my guard:
        “I saw that, Johannes!”
        “Yes, dear,” was Johannes’ meek and peaceable reply.  

Was this not a crafty way to avoid a main “kerfluffle”? “Yes-DEAR-ing” is indeed a time-much-tested refuge from the Wifely Wroth.

After all, “kerfluffles” are best when they don’t happen. You believe me, don’t you, if I tell you that I never, ever raise a fuss?
So with my best superior mien I sometimes pick tenderly on Janet for “big-dealing” trifles. Now I can frame my complaints with much more eloquence: “Do please stop ‘kerfluffling’ me.”

We husbands are a brilliant lot. Or do you think it’s all low cunning?

Strange Growth on Janet's Kitchen Floor

There remains one more little thing to tell. One day I came down the basement stairs and, at the bottom, were to be seen “loveable dainties” – none of them my own – ’NUFF said!