Here is a general statement. All men who marry; marry a foreman. The word “Foreman” is short for “before man”. It means that: “You better listen to her.”
The other day, we put in new doors for the entryway closet. Two narrow doors that open at the center. TLW (The Little Woman), standing at the doors, hands on hips, was giving me a lowdown on what I needed to do, to make her happy. (No smart ass remarks, please.) It seems she wanted a magnet to keep one of the doors more secure, and was telling how she wanted me to do it. Being the man of the house, I begged and pleaded that she let me do it my way, instead.
Looking at me like she was thinking: “oh yeah, you want me to listen to you? What are you nuts?” She acquiesced to my pleading.
Today, after successfully handling the doors as I did, she decided to test my mettle once again. Molding was the reigning issue, and once again, she has thoughts on the subject and technique. Again, I went into my manly act of begging and pleading, and I won my case. (I just know one of these days it will rise up and bite me on my ass.)
In our old house, wishing to sell it, I redid everything. I ripped out walls, floors, ceilings, heating, plumbing, and electricity, and reinstalled new bathroom and kitchen, floors, lighting and plumbing. I feel confident that I don’t need her advice so much as her patience. But TLW likes to take an active roll whenever “We” work. She thinks of herself as the idea person, and me: as the worker, kind of a queen bee/worker mentality.
This will probably be my last blog until I recover and get out of the hospital for writing this blog, after she reads it.
Pray for me.
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