Terror. That feeling you get when your wife and her best friend are over at your house and talking about “redecorating ideas”. I’m thrilled, really. I mean, it’s what I live for. No, you don’t have to move your writing desk out of the office. I really did not mean that I don’t have anywhere to myself. No, you don’t have the whole house.
There are times I realize that am probably a little “penny-wise and pound foolish”. The conversation about a printer that I got recently only to realize that we don’t print a lot of things now. But in the grand scheme of things, I don’t buy a lot. Bushes. Trees. Fertilizer. Fence posts. A lamp. A new computer monitor. A day hiking pack. Okay, so I did buy a newer – not new – car that I will pay off in the next 19 months. Really.
Solar panels have cut our electric bill to zero. Air conditioning system where we had none so the stinkin’ house is now a blessing on a hot day. A new roof that will be the last one I ever need here.
I envy the dogs. The smelly, garbage-can-compulsive mutt, and his sidekick. The nice leather couch is their sleeping place during the work-week ( though we kick them off it every time I find Dexter on it). All they demand is a walk anytime they can get it. And snacks. They are only scared when the vacuum cleaner comes out. (With all the shed hair it comes out a lot.) I don’t think they really notice the color of the walls or the furnishings. I, on the other hand, haven’t spent more than several hours a night sleeping in the house and the infrequent day at home in sixteen years. Work, church, visiting, work.
I will do anything however to make my bride smile. Even if it means getting the old kitchen spiffy. However, I’ll do what it takes to distract my bride from my mementos , bric-a-brac and tools. I care but don’t really care about the house now that it is cool and has some upgrades. Guys just want a place to stage their toys. Maybe that’s why all the historians and archaeologists digging up the past, find bones from ancient barbecues, stone knives and chopping tools, and the occasional old bottle or clay jar of something long ago fermented. That is the guy-stuff. But in the old homes they dig up, there are mosaics and figurines, pots and the remnants of painted, plastered walls, fabrics, and maybe some jewelry. Wife stuff.
And why do you never find any hot-rod chariots, “power” tools, or the ancient world’s version of Lazy Boy recliners? The redecorating fairy ……. When’s the last time you used that? Why do you need two of these? If you get rid of that, all the space we would have!
Yeah. That’s the real reason the Pharoah’s were buried with all their crap stuff. They finally would get to enjoy it in the afterlife.
It's a Dog's Life 