Tag Archives: husbands

My Husband is MIA for DIY

22 Sep

I’m married to a carpenter. He does beautiful work. In other people’s homes.

We’ve lived in our home since 1997. Since then, I have asked him, bribed him, threatened him, cajoled him to fix a few things around the house and to help me maintain day-to-day functions. Like not leaving his huge man things everywhere and not allowing the garage to morph into an episode of Hoarders.

My vision:

I want.

I want.

My reality:

No, we don't need three nonfunctioning lawnmowers and a baker's dozen fly swatters.

No, we don’t need three nonfunctioning lawnmowers and a baker’s dozen fly swatters.

I went out and bought a docking station to tame those pesky wires and um, Sharpies.

Aaaand he turned it into a wire gang bang.

And he turned it into a wire gang bang.

One day, it started to rain. And then this happened. It was 2003.

No. I don't see Jesus's face. Fix the fucking ceiling.

No. I don’t see Jesus’s face. Fix the fucking ceiling. Love you.

It remains like that to this very day.

In an effort to streamline the┬ábajilly┬ápieces of paper that enter our home daily (seriously, it’s 2013, people…would it kill you to save a tree?) I went to Home Goods and picked-up like fourteen baskets to put shit in. I asked the hubs to start putting the mail in files.

My vision:

Serenity now.

Serenity now.

Nailed it:

Now that's what I call a filing system. Call Martha Stewart.

Now that’s what I call a filing system. Call Martha Stewart.

My vision:

A beautiful beachy chic mantle.

A beautiful beachy chic mantle.

I tell you what. Nothing says elegant coastal living like this big, yellow fuck off wire draped across your mantle.

A little to the left...

Nailed it.

I even told him that I saw on Dr. Oz that leaving your kids’ toothbrushes next to the sink can cause malaria.

It's like the man has no fear.

It’s like the man has no fear.

I admit. I like pretty things. So do you. Sure, it’s not always rationale or functionally necessary to have an antique decantur next to the baby food, but it makes me happy to create a beautiful home. Regardless of the amount of lead paint in an heirloom.

Yup. That goes there.

Yup. Those go right there.

He took down all of our closets to “add space.” Now, we have nowhere to keep the vacuum.

What if someone suddenly drops a cookie. What if?!

What if someone suddenly drops a cookie. What if?!

Or our clothes.

So when I said walk-in closet, I didn't mean for you to construct a huge fucking rack. In the middle of our bedroom.

So when I said walk-in closet, I didn’t mean for you to construct a huge fucking rack. In the middle of our bedroom.

My vision:

Too much to ask?

Too much to ask?

We like it Dr. Seuss style I guess.

We like it Dr. Seuss style I guess.

I’ve even tried reverse psychology. “Who needs mirrors? Mirrors are for vain people. Don’t hang those mirrors. Ever.”

If you don't mind, I'd really rather imagine how many more wrinkles I have this morning.

If you don’t mind, I’d really rather imagine how many more wrinkles I have this morning.

Oh look! There I am. Nope.

Oh look! There I am again. Nope.

I even promised extremely kinky sex to slap a fixture on this bad boy. We moved here sixteen years ago.

I even promised extremely kinky sex to slap a fixture on this bad boy. We moved here sixteen years ago.

So I played hardball and gutted the bathroom while he was at work. Last May.

Um, sorry?

He called my bluff.

It’s all fun and games until you see your house in the daylight. Sober.

No husbands were harmed in the making of this blog post.

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