[I hope you find humor in my rants… that’s the goal of bitchfest… laughter.]
h | half wall
I’m sure this title seems odd… but allow me to explain.
We have a half wall. It’s not literally a half wall… it’s more like a two-fifths wall (yes, I actually did the math). I don’t hate the half wall… this isn’t really about the half wall… I love the half wall. But the path to its existence… ugh.
Truthfully, this is a rant about my husband. And that conveniently also begins with h.
When we moved into our house, a few immediate changes were necessary. Gross pink floral wallpaper in the living room. Dark red dining room walls. Terrible light fixtures. And there was a strange wall situation. Two doorways without doors on either side of a solid section with a window-like opening toward the top, about 18” x 24”. I have no idea what they (whoever built the house, I guess) were trying to achieve, but they failed.
After staring at the weird wall for a few minutes, I had the solution. Pull out the middle part between the two openings. Then build a half-height wall (okay, two-fifths) that extends 4 or 5 feet from the edge of the kitchen, separating the dining area just a little. In the end, the whole area would be much more open and flow perfectly. I measured and drew a little picture. It was brilliant… not only would it get rid of the weird wall, but it would also look awesome.
‘You can build that,’ I told my husband. And he could. He’s handy like that.
But he didn’t like my idea. He told me it wouldn’t work… it would look weird… but there was no real reason… other than it was my idea. We have a little bit of an issue whenever we do a home improvement project. Because he’s really handy with tons of things around the house, he thinks he knows everything and I know nothing. And I fucking hate it. My ideas are brilliant!
Since we couldn’t agree on the weird wall, we moved on to other projects. Separate things. I painted… he did… whatever the fuck he did… until the day he came to me to tell me he figured out what to do about the weird wall.
“I think I should pull out that middle section. Open the whole thing up. And then build a short wall over here.” And he indicates the exact place I suggested we put the half (two-fifths) wall.
I stared at him for a minute but said nothing. Then my stare turned into a glare. And I was really proud of myself for what I said next because the words in my head were not nice. “Wow, yeah… that’s a great idea. I think we should do that.”
“Really? Because you sound a little sarcastic.”
“That’s because I suggested this exact same thing to you two weeks ago and you thought it was a terrible idea.”
“Are you fucking kidding me? I drew you a goddamn picture!” And as I am a ridiculous packrat, I produced said picture. He was a bit speechless… but of course, I wasn’t. “I love how this is a great idea now that you think it’s yours… but when it was my idea, it was stupid. What the hell?”
“I guess it was a good idea.”
“Of course it was.”
To this day… and forever after… whenever my husband has some genius idea that I previously presented to him — an idea that came from my genius, not his (and it happens more than you’d think) — I stare at him with that ‘seriously??’ look on my face. And I say the same two words.