I.364 have learned many things in my lifetime, quite a few lessons that repeat themselves over and over again. One, however, never gets old. After 22 years of marriage, I still get a thrill out of seeing the look on my hubby’s face when I pick up a hammer.
.364“I’m just going to hang some things,” I casually tell him, to which he stares, speechless.
He needn’t speak. I know the words going through his mind, I have heard them so many times before. Things like ... you’re going to put holes in the wall ... you don’t know how to find a stud ... that’s too heavy for those nails ... are you sure you know what you’re doing? ...”
I love it.
It’s almost as great as the look he gets when I breathe those six most-dreaded words — I want to rearrange the furniture.
First there is silence. Then there is headshaking. Then there is a sigh. Then he speaks.
“But I like it this way,” which is really his way of saying: “I know you are not going to make me move that big honking you-know-what piece of furniture around this room again only to realize you liked it better where it was in the first place.”
He is, of course, referring to the wooden cabinet that once housed our television in the den. We bought it years ago at an antique warehouse downtown and were told that it used to be in an elementary school room in England. I had romantic images of little English children with English accents wearing knickers and storing their school books in the big wooden cabinet.
I once shared the story of our big English cabinet with my brother, who, of course, told me that it probably came from somebody’s trailer in east Alabama, but I refused to let him burst my English bubble. I know it came all the way from England — on a boat, no less. And if it can make it all the way over the ocean and miles and miles to little old Albany, how hard can it be to move it a few feet around our den?
Pretty hard. The thing weighs a ton.
The fact that my better-half doesn’t like to move furniture around doesn’t stop me. I have been known to move hundreds of pounds of wood, steel and upholstery using only my bare hands and a towel.
It is, if I do say so myself, quite amazing. By carefully placing a towel or blanket under a heavy piece of furniture, you can easily move it on a wooden floor by slowly sliding it, inch by inch, either using your arms or, on occasion, a hefty push with the tush.
It can be done.
The best part about being able to move the furniture myself is that the minute he leaves for a day I can get to work, move the whole room around like I want it, and have it all set up when he gets home.
Then, he doesn’t notice or say a word for a few days and, when he does, I tell him, “What are you talking about? This is the way the room’s always been.”
I love it. I just won’t admit that I did have a little trouble finding the studs.
Contact columnist Mandy Flynn at firstname.lastname@example.org.