***
The other day, I was in my recliner with our little terrier snoring beside me. I had just finished watching a new over-the-top action flick on my 75″ TV. (The gratuitous carnage and body count had been particularly gruesome in this soon-to-be classic.) Thanks to a wide assortment of tasty snacks and beverages, I had a full stomach. (Watching blood and gore always gives me a hearty appetite). Consequently, I had drifted off and was blissfully snoozing away.
I was living the dream.
Suddenly, the peace and quiet was shattered as my wife strolled into the room and announced in her all-business, no-nonsense voice, “We need to make some home improvements around here.”
In a desperate attempt to discourage the discussion, I tried to do the impossible and make myself invisible. Cautiously opening just one eye, I peeked at her while hoping against hope that this unnecessary, unwarranted, and undeserved unpleasantness would soon blow over.
However, convinced beyond any doubt that we were risking life and limb living in our dilapidated domicile (which she was certain would be condemned by the county at any moment), my bride was, unfortunately, just getting warmed up.
With her hands squarely on her hips (her favorite position to project authority), she continued in a harsh tone, “This place is falling apart. Everywhere I look, I see problems that need to be fixed. The gutters, the grout, the leaks, the clogs, the ………..”
I vaguely remember hearing that something else was loose, something needed tightening, something was cracked, something was falling down – I don’t know – I think there was more, but at that point, I dozed off again.
But not for long.
My perennially patient partner snapped me back to reality when she leaned down in my face and hissed, “Are you listening to me?”
Startled, I sat upright in my recliner as our little terrier had the good sense to jump down and make a run for it. If only I could have gone with her.
Feeling compelled to press the point, my spouse continued with an elevated tone of voice that guaranteed there would be no more napping. “We are going to make these home improvements, and we are going to start right NOW!”
I cannot stress strongly enough that when my wife makes up her mind about something, it is NEVER good news for me. I, on the other hand, try to keep my mind empty at all times. (Always supportive, my bride frequently informs me that I am succeeding in that effort.)
Sadly, I could only respond to her disheartening declaration with a heavy sigh as I reflected on how my happy contentment had unraveled in only a matter of seconds.
Of course, my spouse did not bring up this sinister subject without being prepared. She had compiled a LENGTHY list of to-do jobs that she believed were top priorities requiring immediate attention.
But considering my wife believed our home was a disintegrating death trap, for some reason, the first thing she wanted to do was paint an area of the house that literally no one would ever see.
Why? Why? Why? What was she thinking?
Does it really matter what shade, hue, or tint the LAUNDRY ROOM happens to be? Will painting it miraculously make the washer and dryer more efficient? Will our clothes mysteriously become cleaner? Will they magically get dryer?
For crying out loud, I don’t even know what color that room is NOW! (But whatever it is – that is fine with me.)
However, my bride was adamant. She explained in excruciating detail that she wanted to paint the room (actually, she wanted ME to paint the room) with what she described as a neutral color.
Come on! Does it really matter what color the walls are if it’s a room filled with dirty underwear? The emphatic answer is YES!!! Apparently, it mattered a great deal to my spouse!
Without a moment’s hesitation, she dragged me kicking and screaming to one of the big box stores (believe me, I got my money’s worth even though my wife, as always, stoically ignored my theatrics) to begin a soul-crushing, never-ending search for the particular pinpoint on the rainbow that would transform the 60 square feet of the laundry room (in which we store the cat’s litter box and the toilet plunger) into a palatial paradise of peaceful perfection.
But as we started shopping for the ever-elusive neutral color, I was shocked! All my bride wanted to look at was WHITE PAINT. (Of all the colors on the spectrum, that was her imaginative choice.) And it did not take long for her to become frustrated with me because, although I tried (at least a little), I could not distinguish between the THOUSANDS of subtle shades that amazingly made my spouse giddy with excitement.
To say I found her enthusiasm bewildering would be quite an understatement because every sample I was forced to examine (against my will) looked identical to me. The only discernible differences were the less-than-helpful names that were supposed to provide much-needed guidance in selecting the proper pigment.
These utterly useless descriptions, dreamed up by over-paid marketing gurus, included: Beige, Ivory, Cream, Oyster, Coconut, Floral, Vanilla, Dove, Cotton, Sand, Bone, Frost, Eggshell, Seashell, Alabaster, Chiffon, Champagne, Linen, Lace, Pearl, Polar, Powder, Porcelain, Parchment, Natural White, Antique White, Vivid White, Shadow White, Extra White, Super White, Ultra White, Winter White, Spring White, Dutch White, Ghost White, Milk White, Off-White, All-White, Bright White, Pure White, Soft White………. and on – and on – and on………. TO INFINITY.
Talk about overkill.
Incredibly, there were even more choices, but by then, my eyes had glazed over, and I was struggling to remain conscious as I was required to look at dozens upon dozens of what was essentially THE SAME COLOR with ridiculous names.
What was the point? First of all, when I give her my opinion, my wife never takes it. And secondly, I DON’T CARE! White paint is white paint. Just pick one and get on with it. Besides, we both know that in six months, she’ll get tired of that color, and the entire process will start all over again.
Oh, well. At least that gives me something to live for.
Although the love of my life disagrees, I believe sarcasm adds a certain magic to marriage, don’t you?
Marital Madness 