We’ve been very busy remodeling our home. What an ordeal… You’d think it would be fun, picking out flooring, kitchen cabinets and the like. But honestly, it is a grueling test of marriage vows and color coordination.
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My wife runs around the house like a dog chasing its tail. Actually, the dog is chasing my wife as she runs around the house like a dog chasing its tail. “The floor color, Mickey, is it too red? Is the paint too brown? Will everything clash with what we have?” I have to calm her down…that’s my job. I say, “Who gives a shit honey” and “will you please stop chasing your tail? You’re giving the dog a headache”. Men are not equipped for this kind of chaos. Do we really have to measure the height of the pendant lighting; from the top of the countertop to the optimum elevation for area illumination? To quote a great man…’ who gives a flying fuck?’ God forbid we just throw those fuckers up any old way.
And the boxes…boxes everywhere, for everything. We’re living out of them now, for christsakes. I can’t find the goddamn toothpaste, but I did happen to find my son at the bottom of one. Good thing too, cause he was holding the goddamn toothpaste. “What are you doing in there, Corey?” I asked. “I dunno Dad. Mom packed me”. Christ. “What’s Corey doing at the bottom of a box, Terri?” “He clashes with the floor,” she says, “I told you it was too red!”
Someone give me a Vicodin.
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