I know I haven’t been keeping up with my weekly report lately, but I’ve got an excellent reason: Roy and I are working on wrecking our marriage and that is always a very important time in the relationship.
There aren’t many things that I believe could wreck our marriage, but I guess I’ve always known that if we ever did break up, it would be in the middle of some home improvement project or another. And this week, we are working on an addition to the garage.
That’s right, it’s not something important, like adding a breakfast nook, or maybe more closet space. No, we are adding another stall on the garage just for the pickup. I tried to suggest that we use the space more practically, like for a sunroom or something, but no, we’re going to use it to park a vehicle. What a criminal waste of space!
On top of that, the usual problem has arisen with Roy’s unreliable help, because of course, that’s me. It started with the siding. There wouldn’t have been problem if Roy hadn’t gone out and torn a bunch of it off the garage. But of course, Mr. Fussy wanted it all to blend in and look good. I’m all for that…unless it means I have to help.
Roy doesn’t need me to nail up the siding; he just needs someone to hold it while he nails it up. This may not sound difficult, but I assure you, it is.
“Lift up that side,” he will instruct as we struggle to fit the piece of siding in place. “Make the bottom of the board meet the red mark I made on the board below.”
That’s easy for him to say; in order for me to see that little red mark, I have to stand on my head and continue to hold the heavy siding against the wall. “Okay, I think it’s on the red mark; my eyesight is a little blurred from hanging upside down. Hurry up!”
Now, Roy has a little instrument called a level. It measures whether or not a board or anything is even and straight. I hate this level. Mainly because it always rats me out Continued from page 1
and lets Roy know that I’m not holding my end of the siding high enough. I’ve tried throwing it into the garden, pitching it under the deck and I even tried stepping on it, but the darned thing just won’t die. It goes right on, helping Roy to force me to hold the siding up so it’s even.
“Alright, make sure that the siding is right in the middle of that red pen mark,” he will instruct, holding the evil level up to the top.
“It’s a pen mark; it’s a little difficult to hit right in the middle of it,” I grumble, trying to push the siding up or down or whatever the level demands. “Have you got it where you want it?”
“Just about,” and he will study and tap it and look at the level again while I hang on at the other end, trying to keep the siding from slipping…too much.
“Just pound a nail in already,” I finally whine, “my arms are shot and I’m pretty sure I’ve strained something important.”
It’s at that point that I look up and see by Roy’s expression that he’s hoping that I strain my tongue, so he doesn’t have to listen to the complaints anymore. And it will probably be one of those moments when he will suggest that perhaps we should have separate houses. I wouldn’t worry too much, though, because if he decides to get another house without me, who will help him side it?
We are getting done with the siding project, and he got his son-in-law to help with the shingling (he’s already aware of what great help I am when I’m high up), so there can’t be much left to this project. Therefore, I’ve had some time to devote to other projects around the house, which could be beneficial to my marriage. It’s too bad about that level, though. I don’t know how it could possibly have fallen into the wood chipper like that.
Putting things on a level field