Tuesday, October 03, 2006

Heterosexual Eye For The Married Guy

[Editor's Note: Of course the topic of today's lesson has already happened. It's set in the future tense to add excitement. We promise not to lie about the timetable. We likewise promise to exaggerate about everything else]
{Author's note:There is no editor}

Sorry about yesterday. Commenter Pastor Jeff wrote: "You. Are. Evil."

Well, I'm glad you're paying attention. Yes; yes I am. But never mind that, when it comes to making things domestic on a shoestring budget, I'm not just evil; I'm the veritable Prince of Darkness.

Look, I've been making a cozy silk purse out of a domestic sow's ear for three decades or so now. And I used to watch those shows where you were instructed how to use felt to make your home look like Park Avenue, or how to get a gallon of metallic paint and a rag and make your home into a veritable Studio 54, or get a pile of wooden pallets and make a Chippendale coffee table, and all the other iterations of How-To programming which are like a walk in a barnyard in bare feet for merde. And I've come up with a saying for it all: "You can't do it; they can't help."

I'm joshing, but just a little. But I've been asked my opinion of amateur do-it-yourself marvels so many times, and turned to my wife in the car ride home and muttered "Home Depot blew up, and Walt Disney vomited on it" so many times, that I'm losing my perspective on the whole "let's spruce the joint up" vibe. I needed to get my groove back.

I cast my mind back to a lovely bedroom addition an acquaintance (long dead) showed me. He had painted it himself.

It was magnificent. He was retired, and wanted to make this new bedroom sparkle. He succeeded. The room was a perfect Adam interior. Dentillated crown, chair rail, multipane windows, paneled doors, tall scotia capped baseboard. He had decorated and painted and wallpapered it. The wall paper was an exquisite delft blue toile print, and expertly applied. The trim was a strong and rich, dark, bluish-green. The cutting-in lines were straight as a ruler, the finish everywhere smooth and without blemish or stroke; nary a run or drip anywhere. It was the rarest of things: amateur work of the highest quality, and of the most appropriate design.

How long did this take you?

"Three or four months, working seven days a week. I took a Sunday off because I had a cold."

I've told you before, I work all the time. Cry me a river, you typed into your Blackberry with your thumbs, dragging your suitcase through TSA security on your way to your third city in a week. I know, I'm not complaining, I'm explaining.

My wife is the exemplar of: "The cobbler's children have no shoes." Our house has no furniture in it, more or less, because I sell all that I make, and I generally only give her the stuff that's broken or something. Perhaps the experimental designs that look like Dr Cagliari designed them. That sort of thing. And we moved into our Master Bedroom a decade ago before it was finished. And she's suffered along with it all this time, and now it's time... well: Attention Must Be Paid. And I've sorta promised her not to work on Sunday anymore. Maybe just in the morning. Alright, a little in the evening. Anyhow, after close of business Saturday, I'll pay attention to her plight for one day.

OK. Look, here's what we're gonna do. I'm going to redecorate my bedroom. And I'm going to do it between sunset on Saturday afternoon and sunrise on Monday morning. But that's too easy. We've got to make it inneresting. I'm going to lay points on this. Call your bookie now.

I'm not going to leave the house to purchase anything to accomplish it.

Heads up Martha Stewart and Norm and Effeminate Furniture Arrangers and that dork with the soul patch and the screw gun. This is me taunting you.

So, what do you think, can I do it?


Icepick said...


Icepick said...

Here I will take the advice that Sky Masterson's father offered: One of these days in your travels, a guy is going to show you a brand-new deck of cards on which the seal is not yet broken. Then this guy is going to offer to bet you that he can make the jack of spades jump out of this brand-new deck of cards and squirt cider in your ear. But, son, do not accept this bet, because as sure as you stand there, you're going to wind up with an ear full of cider.

So I will make no wagers on this matter, nor will I offer an opinion on your ability to complete this task.

SippicanCottage said...

Icepick- That's a marvelous anecdote.

Walrus said...

I will believe you have accomplished it only if I hear it from your WIFE!

Ruth Anne Adams said...

If I were you, I wouldn't so proudly proclaim that your wife has suffered for a decade in your bedroom.

Editor Theorist said...

In general, from the past few postings, I feel asif I am being sucked-into the crazed world of Sippican Cottage - and I may not get-out unscathed...

Icepick said...

That's a marvelous anecdote.

All credit to Damon Runyon, of course.

Pastor_Jeff said...

I'm with Icepick on this one.

And Ruth Anne? Good catch.