As Brunhilda shifts into high gear, the debris and expenses and the changes to my home continue on a daily basis up to near astronomical levels. I have a contractor who has become more comfortable in my own home than me and I am pretty sure I will be claiming him as exemption as my next year’s tax return.
For the past few days, the kitchen floors have been sticky with varnish to walk on, days and hours of sanding has left a film of dust on everything we own. My bathroom is out of commission and the toilet stool is sitting at the foot of my bed where I have stubbed my toe twice in the middle of the night on my way to the bathroom where the stool used to be. My dresser has been moved in out in the hallway and I have to wander out in the hall for clean socks and underwear.
Each graduation comprises a separate act of spousal terrorism. It started with Cleopatra’s graduation, which among other major items required of me I had to resod about a half acre of ground, tear down a shed the Brunhilda declared an eyesore and install new carpet for people to spill food and beer.
Bathsheba’s graduation has been an even bigger nightmare. We were in a different house than we were before and Brunhilda said the house was perfect for us and then declared the place unlivable until every trace of the former owner had been obliterated. This was due to the former owner had the same level of good taste as the US Marine Corps when it came to living quarters décor and ambiance. This is in addition to the fact that Bathsheba herself has the taste of a pharaoh and has never been shy about telling us about the palty way in which we have failed to establish a luxurious lifestyle for her. This was her chance to get even.
Brunhilda is determined to leave no stone unturned in the graduation day for the last of her girls. However, for the first in these graduations, I have finally scored a major victory for myself. As the time approaches, Brunhilda has scored a new bedroom carpet, a pair of ceiling fans, new entry doors, a pair of light fixtures, wallpaper in three rooms and refinished wood floors.
Brunhilda is also getting after much study of brochures and price, a new refrigerator. AT LAST, IT IS TIME FOR ME TO SCORE A VICTORY IN THIS BATTLE!! You see, with Brunhilda getting a new fridge, the old one now goes out to the garage. Now at this point all the women readers as saying: “So what? So there is a fridge in the garage. What’s the big deal?” But the men out there all know what this means. Don’t we guys? You see, a fridge in the garage now means that it is in the guy’s control. The garage is the guy’s domain. You women control the kitchen, the living room, the bedroom, the dining room, the family room and all the closets and bathrooms. BUT, the guy’s control the garage! It is one of the last bastions of guyhood.
Now every guy out there knows what is going to be in that fridge. Don’t we guys. That’s right – BEER! There will be no salads in that old fridge. Nor will there be such thing as dressings, jam, cottage cheese, condiments, toppings, or vegetables. As soon as that old fridge hit the floor in the garage – it was transformed into a “beer only” storage facility.
It is the thing that men’s dreams are made of. Who among us that are burdened with a ‘Y’ chromosome has not dreamed of the day when he would have a beer fridge. I also anticipated the possible acts of treason and sabotage on Brunhilda’s part as she covets some of the extra chilling to cool her silly things like groceries and medicines. I have made a preemptive strike that rendered her efforts futile. I have installed double padlocks in the event of an after-hours visit, or in case Chipper has the same taste as I have developed or that Brunhilda tries to sneak in a stalk of celery or a carrot.
As soon as I had that fridge up against the wall and plugged in my next stop was the bottle shop. If you saw the stock price of Anheuser-Busch spike up yesterday – that was me. I literally stuffed the fridge with beer. Beer stacked two high on the big shelves and from front to back on all the others. There is beer in the crisper drawers and the door shelves. I bought enough Budweiser to qualify me for a free team of Clydesdales! And just to show you that I am not a vindictive person, I also put in a six-pack of Brunhilda’s favorite brand.
My point is – and I am talking to the men here now—is that while the war has been going on for weeks and has been waged with arsenals of paint, varnish, carpet, wallpaper, lights, fans, doors and contractors – I have finally managed to snatch a victory from the jaws of defeat! I HAVE A BEER FRIDGE!
I wonder if she knows when she has been bested.