Yesterday, another rainy day at the beach-house-not-on-the-beach, there were plenty of maintenance chores to keep us busy. Little things, like replacing a hinge after the cabinet door fell off when Dearly Beloved opened it. . . and bigger things, like the clogged toilet which refuses to let ‘er rip even after two applications of Drain-o.
Even though I did not point my finger and say, “You! You! You!” when the cabinet door fell off in DB’s hands, he has been a tad accusatory about the clogged toilet.
Yes, I was seated on the throne just prior to the clog, but nothing superhuman went on in there that modern plumbing shouldn’t be able to handle!
We do better with His and Her projects than joint projects, having learned that lesson about 30 years ago when we tried to wallpaper our son’s room, dormers and all, with plaid paper. In the division of labor, I received custody of the paint brushes and wallpaper paste, DB took the toolbox and toilets.
When I do a Her project, I simply DO it. His projects involve an ongoing monologue, as if he thinks I’m making a documentary of the project. Repairs which involve a trip to the hardware store. . . OMG! I may as well grab a Diet Coke and prop my feet up because I’m going to get a replay of the trip, along with the installation and the toilet work.
The swagger he develops upon finishing? Not since Fonzie…! He blows on his screwdriver before tucking it into his back pocket and asks, “Who’s your man?” Just to make sure there’s no misunderstanding, he plays this song for me.
Now we’re talking…!