So, we have been painting This Old House for several months now. There was a hiatus in August for travel and summer heat hoo-hah. Really, we are pretty-much done. What's left is the tippy-top dormer, and for that, we (That Spouse o' Mine and I) will don mountain climbing harnesses, attached to the stairwell indoors. (Snicker if you must. This plan was mine approximately eight months ago, and it was, too, met with snickers, if not outright guffaws. And yet...here we are...donning our gay apparel) and finish off the fun, fun task of old house husbandry.
Yesterday, Friday, I awoke with a bundle of energy and transported it to the outbuilding we affectionately refer to as the Bike Barn. The Bike Barn houses bicycles. It was perhaps once the 1887 tiny cabin used by the Civil War soldier who was deeded this plot of land, while he built his actual house...it's a guess. (The outbuilding is better than a smokehouse, better than a chicken house, and better than anything else we can come up with.) Enough said. I thought to myself: I can knock this one off on my own, in a day or two! (Yay for mental cheerleading.) I proceeded to paint the west side and the north side of this outbuilding. I even managed some artfully-applied trim work. Yay for me. Right?
And yesterday evening, that Spouse o' Mine came home from work, poured himself a glass of wine, and headed out to the Bike Barn to do whatever needs doing in a Bike Barn before a weekend of cycling. I had cleaned up and had started dinner. He came in later.
I asked, "So, what do you think?"
"The bike barn?"
"What about it?"
OK, this went on a few more queries until I told him I had painted the Bike Barn - from cream with burgundy trim, to faint blue with white trim. The guy saw nothing. NOTHING at all.
Please note: house, and left of house (south, actually), the bike barn in cream and burgundy.
OK. I am sort of in awe, sort of smug. Kind of worried.
But then, let's fast-forward to this morning, Saturday morning. I am showered and getting dressed for a meeting. I grab some socks (I think) and my black loafers. On the living room sofa, talking to that Spouse o' Mine as I pull on a sock and a shoe, I remark, "Where's my other sock?" I thrash around the sofa, looking for the other mate. What the heck?! I walk back into our bedroom, and trace my movement from the bedroom through the bathroom and into the living room. No sock. What a conundrum. Finally, and let me tell you how embarrassing this is...
The other sock, I had already put on my other foot. You guys are ready to commit me now, aren't you?
Sad, sad state of affairs. I can't believe I am admitting this tale.
He is colorblind and clueless, and I am simply clueless. No excuses on my part.
So sad, so sad.
So glad we love each other.