ME: I AM pushing!
HUSBAND: PUSH HARDER
ME – under my breath: @#%#$^% I’ll push you #$%# harder you $%#$^@$!
I tapped out and left the room to put the copious amounts of Styrofoam packaging in the garbage and Husband finished the job.
So, that went well.
I HATE doing projects with husband. HATE! We’re not one of those couples you see in the home depot or Lowes commercials enjoying the wonder of painting walls or building decks. We are the couple on those house flipping shows – or those flippin’ house shows having arguments about tile and bathroom grout. We fight every time. EVERY. TIME.
He thinks I talk too much. He thinks I ask too many questions. I think he’s an ass.
He’ll ask me if I’m holding something and then yell at me when I don’t have the strength of a 200lb weight lifter and the thing I’m supposed to be holding slips. And I’ll yell back “I was holding it! That this is all I could hold.” And then I’m upset and he’s grumpy and we can’t stop and hug it out because we’re holding the stupid thing and I don’t like hugging when I’m mad and I don’t like him and he thinks I’m doing it on purpose and it’s just awesome.
AND it doesn’t help that Husband over-engineers things. Like the deck he made with five hundred postholes. The holes that required a two-person hole augur. A two-person auger with a gas pull start that I couldn’t pull so I was the holder while Husband pulled the gas. It went like this; he pulled the gas thing. I held for about a second and the weight of the stupid machine and the force of the drill thing was too much and I went spinning round with the auger and off into the dirt. Awesome. Just awesome. At one point the next-door neighbor leaned over the fence and asked if we were okay. And I actually said, “Nope. We might need a divorce lawyer.” And he laughed. And husband laughed. And I pretended to laugh as the tears welled up and spilled over my dusty lashes.
Around hole forty-nine, I contemplated killing him. Around hole ninety, I contemplated killing myself. It was a very long day that was EXACTLY like the day we put in gravel for our faux grass. And the day we mixed cement. And the day we put together the Murphy bed and I had to climb inside the closed bed to spring the spring. And the day... you get the idea. We do not play well together.
It doesn’t help that Husband starts these projects with me when at night when I’m done for the day. I’m a morning person. You want lovely assistant help with a cheery can-do attitude; don’t ask me to hold something at 8pm at night.
Like last night, when we tried to install the vent over the cooktop. And Husband told me to hold it. And I held it but I’m not He-man. And the vent moved. And the pipe moved. And then there was grunting and lots of huffing and someone was told to stop asking questions. Oh yea, that was me. And someone tried to lift the vent using two pieces of wood but didn’t tell the other someone what the plan was and the vent almost fell on someone’s head. Oh yea, that was me. And someone tried to figure out why she was married and what life would be like without him in it. Oh yea, that was me.
Heck, it was probably him too but this is MY rant about how hard life is FOR ME!
I have no finish for this rambling rant of a post. The post I’m typing in my pretty new kitchen that is still covered in a layer of dust. The pretty new kitchen that is missing the oven/microwave thing that is on tonight’s install list. I am very much not looking forward to that. It’s a good thing that husband has invited a friend to witness – sorry - help us with the debacle that will be that project. I will attempt to keep my mouth shut and smile pretty while I imagine life with my next Mr. Husband in a house that is move in ready. Happy thoughts...