My Ungrateful Wife

Yesterday, The Mrs. decided it was time to paint "the playroom". That not being a specific enough designation in my house, being as there are so many playrooms, this is the room on the second floor which is supposed to be the fourth bedroom up there, but is designated as a playroom.

So I took both kids fishing (which turned into a major cluster f^@k of an outing, but I'll discuss that over on the weather blog) to get them out of her hair while she cleared everything out of the room and then, as always happens, she started asking me to build shelves. I'm not sure what it is about painting that makes The Mrs. want me to build shelves, but it seems like whenever she looks at an empty closet that is configured such that you could put clothes in it, this infuriates her.

I said I couldn't build shelves since I didn't own a table saw (mine having been destroyed in a tragic accident that involved a very expensive dado blade and me nearly having a saw blade flung through my midsection at rather uncomfortably high speed). Being the manipulative sort, she said, "Do you want to buy a table saw."

"No. I have nowhere to put one, since you've filled up every possible storage area in the house and garage with toys." Or something like that.

I determined that what she was actually asking for could be done with a hand saw, a drill, and a router. So I bought the wood and a fancy new 5/8" radius roundover bit, but it was over 100 degrees outside and even hotter in the garage, and I didn't feel like sitting in the sweltering heat making shelves, and I'm not allowed to saw in the house because of the mess it makes.

So I headed to the basement with The Childrens to watch TV and conserve my energy while waiting for it to cool off.

The Mrs., seeing me take a moment's rest in the afternoon, immediately called me, "You lazy bum."

Now, I really don't know where she gets off copping this kind of attitude with me. I think it's because you're not allowed to properly discipline your wife anymore.

But, being a man of remarkably cool temperament, given the constant goading I get, I decided to argue my side of the case by example. I said, "I'm a lazy bum? Have you ever met a guy named [soon-to-be-ex-husband of her friend in San Schmose]? Have you ever discussed lazy men with your mother? The next time you get to thinking that I'm a lazy, you should call up your mother to get her opinion on it."

The Mrs., of course, has absolutely no idea what "lazy" really is. To her, it means not willing to drop everything at a moment's notice and cater to her every whim.

I have clearly spoiled her. But it ends now. I hope she has fun painting.

BTW, here are your stupid shelves. I hope you enjoy sleeping on them.