He Should Know Better

paintingLast night, while driving home from my full time job (Mary Poppins extraordinaire) my husband called with the all urgent request to not park behind him when I got home. I, of course, replied “You’re not the boss of me!” To which he laughed, to which I laughed harder (because I laugh at my own humor) and then replied, more seriously, “why, where ya going?!” I assumed the gym, but he instead had decided to go to the store. Not the food store- he’s no idea where that even is- but to a boring guy kind of cargo-pants-and-utility-boots kind of store. Then, after that, he thought he’d go take a look at a new local gym that specializes in MMA style training. Maybe, I’m not sure, but maybe many wives of a 51 year old man would be concerning about that idea, but, me… for me it was like the proverbial light bulb going off above my head.

You see, my guy walks, drives, everythings at his own special [un-named professions] pace. That pace is: slowwwwly. I on the other hand, am always ten minutes ahead of myself. We are truly the tortoise and the hare. So, by my calculations, a trip that would have taken me one hour total, would be an easy two and a half for him. Unless he got to talking to the inadvertent person-he-hasn’t-seen-in-years, which would put him at three +hours out. plenty of time……

…..for me to repaint the entire bedroom. Right? I mean, no problem that the room needed to be cleaned, prepped, taped, furniture moved, paint opened, stirred, poured, brushes, rollers, animals kicked out. Nah, I got this. Plus, I thought it’d be hysterical for him to get home to an entirely different bedroom. But, that’s just me. Weird idea of funny.

Typical Melly fashion, I jump right in. Tape and paint a section at a time. Get some on the ceiling ( no biggie, ceiling paint will fix that) get some in my hair, my chin, my clothes, the floor, the cat. Whoa, that one was kind of a biggie. Blue Point Himalayan (mostly white for those no cat savvy folk) with desert blue paint spatter on his back. Incidentally, his name is Biggie. Notorious B.I.G to be exact. It’s not that we are big rap fans, I only even know the chorus of that one song (“Biggie Biggie Biggie/can’ t you see/sometimes your rhymes/just hypnotize me…”) but for some reason we thought the name would be awesome. And we thought it equally awesome to make the vet spell out his whole name on his file. (I love when they call his name out in the office, “Okay, isssssssss…..Notorious…B…I…Ggggg ready to come see the Dr.?”)IMG_0157

In the midst of my spur of the moment painting project, my oldest daughter comes by the house. She, much like everyone else who knows me well, shakes her head, shrugs her shoulders and says, in this order: “Oooohhh, is Paulie’s gonna be mad!” and the “I’m hungry, feed me.” So, after insisting that he wouldn’t be mad, just defeated and disbelieving, we ate some dinner (I’d fortunately had the foresight to throw a pork roast in the crock pot that morning). At this point, I’d hit the 2 1/2 hour mark…and guess who walks through the door. Yup, the hubs.

Simultaneously, my daughter and I say “don’t go in the bedroom”. To which, as so often in our relationship, he hangs his head, squeezes his eyes shut and whispers…”.Ohhh, Melly.Whattt nowwwww. But then, like sunshine on a cloudy day, and true to his nature, he smiles and laughs and says, “Oh well! What’s for dinner?”

And that’s pretty much how it goes. The rule of the house has become, If you leave Melly home alone, crazy things will happen”. Usually, it becomes, if not at first, a good thing. Last nights spur of the moment painting project turned out well, if not perfect. But, as I like to say, Beauty is in the imperfections .

*Note, once it’s truly finished (clean and decorated, I’ll post a pic 🙂

Melly

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