Guys, let me warn you. If your wife wants the house painted, the house will get painted.
I admit there are some guys out there who have an eye for decorating, and these types sooner or later wind up on “Trading Spaces.” But most of you don’t know mauve from fuchsia, and really don’t give a hoot. Guys are fine with the status quo, and the hair on the back of their necks sort of stands on end when the wife starts talking about changing something.
But one thing all men learn sooner or later is that if the wife wants to change something, you can bellyache, you can drag your feet, and you can go on a hunger strike. But if she wants it changed, it’ll get changed.
My parents recently moved into a home that “didn’t need a single thing done to it.” It was “ready to move into.” Men: never believe this line when spoken by a wife. If there is something that needs changing, a woman WILL find it.
It started with the color of the bedroom walls. My mom decided that she wasn’t crazy about it, and well, if she were ever going to paint them, then the time to do it would be before they moved in. Before my dad could get out his customary “But, Babe …”, a painter appeared and began laying cloth.
When I visited during this phase, he shrugged his shoulders and confessed, “I liked the old color just fine.” Guys always like the old color just fine.
But they always like the new color just fine, too. Nine times out of ten, when the project is done and the neighbors are going on about how mahhhvalous it looks, the “she wants to paint the walls” turns into “we decided to paint the walls”.
The second time I visited the construction site, my mom had decided to paint the upstairs bathroom. Dad just shook his head. Then she decided that the walls in the living room were too white.
“But, Babe…”
The next thing we knew, she had color swatches out. Painters love people like my mom. I was half expecting to see him arrive the next day with family and suitcases in tow … he knew he’d be here awhile yet.
The living room walls went from being white to being a soft gray, and it really did look mahhhvalous. I gushed and complimented.
“Yes, it does look good,” my dad boasted. “You know, there was just too much white in here.”
I haven’t mentioned the new bed, the new entertainment center, or the recovered loveseat. You see, when you have a new house, and especially newly painted walls, well, everything else looks old. It’s hard to find a stopping place.
My mom took me aside and asked me to follow her to the kitchen. She asked me, so that Dad couldn’t hear, “What do you think about this tile floor?”
It wasn’t something I would have picked, but I thought she was pushing her luck. I told her so.
I spoke with her last night. The tile man is coming on Monday.
