Often people tell me how lucky I am to have found and married the Carpenter, the undisputed love of my life. It’s true, though I would argue it had nothing to do with luck and everything to do with divine intervention. Let the record show the truth of the matter is, the Carpenter was lucky to have found me. And I can prove it.
Case in point: the bathroom renovation. Now, before you get all excited knowing how I have pleaded for a bathroom completion for four years, please note it isn’t that bathroom. Nope. It’s the other bathroom. Yep. Give the Carpenter of couple days of forced work stoppage (due to weather) and instead of fixing what’s broken, he tears apart an entirely different bathroom.
Most women would flip out over such chaos. Most women would demand renovations be completed in the order in which they were begun and very few would wait four years to see it happen. Most women would insist they at least pick the flooring tiles and fixtures. Let the record show: I am not “most women.”
Mind you, most men would ask first; perhaps consult with their co-homeowner, or offer a decision-making opportunity. The Carpenter is not “most men.” He arrived home from the hardware store with new flooring tiles, a new toilet and fixtures and, placing them all out for my inspection said, “What do you think?”
First thought? “Well, it looks like you’ve decided everything already,” I said, flatly. “Why didn’t you take me along to help pick this stuff out?”
Let the games begin. His move.
“You were on deadline,” he quipped. Smart move.
My turn. “You didn’t think I’d like a vote in the flooring?”
Our eyes met. Stalemate. I caved first. Truth is I loved the tiles. They matched the paint colour, which I did vote on. The fixtures were attractive and on budget. The toilet was modern and practical. The point is, I was happy. Overjoyed, even. But I had to make my point, you understand.
“Now, you have to admit, your wife just completely let you make a major purchase that will affect our home for years to come, she didn’t even balk at your choices. Not a single complaint. That means, you must acknowledge that I am not now, nor have I ever been a nag.”
He had to agree. I mean, how many guys could pull the same move and still be married before the tiles were even out of the box? Not many.
So while my husband may lament the public badgering of his wife’s weekly column (including remarks about uncompleted renovations), he should now realize that when he is motivated to actually get something done, I support his enthusiasm and stay out of his way. I trust him. Correction: I trust that eventually, I will appreciate his efforts and just be grateful a renovation is complete.
“I love you,” he said. Well played.
See, the Carpenter and I don’t often fight. Instead, we wage a very quiet battle that is as strategic as a game of chess, but with the complexity of the game Risk, and the subtle silent moves of checkers. It’s not all-out war, but eventually, I do win (I wish you could all see his face when he reads that line).
Lucky for us, the new bathroom is done. And we’re together.
Writing has been my passion since I learned how to hold a pencil (which I still cannot do properly). Despite my father’s insistence that I would starve to death in this career, I remain well fed and eager to write more. They say you should do what you love: I love to write.