This occurred to me yesterday when my honey and I had a difference of opinion. I asked him to hang a mirror in our hallway. Now, I don’t know about anyone else, but when I want a mirror hung it’s usually because I want to be able to see myself it in. *shrug* I could be wrong about this, yet no matter how many times I stood in front of the darn thing when he’d launched it so high on the wall I could only stare at the top two inches of my head, it was hard to get excited. Conclusion? Well, my hair part was straight and I may have to look into Botox if those forehead creases get any deeper and for a certainty, if I wanted to look myself in the eye I’d have to get a ladder out.
Sheesh! Seriously? I pulled him next to me so we’re facing the mirror. Think American Gothic picture without the pitchfork and a woman that’s a foot shorter than the guy. Hence, the only things reflected in the mirror are Honey’s frowning features and my perfectly parted hair. So the problem should be obvious, right?
Wrong.
Honey grumbles, “Any lower and the mirror won’t be centered between the floor and ceiling.”
Hmm… the ceiling is higher than average, so I’m wondering how many giants he’s expecting to the house that are going to want to groom themselves. “Who told you to center it? I thought we marked where you were going to hang it?”
“We did, but when I held it up to double check I couldn’t see myself in it.”
Huh. He had me there. “I see. Well, it needs to be lowered.”
“I can’t lower it. I hung it with anchors.”
Um, at this point, I couldn’t have given a rat’s ass what he hung it with. “So, change them.”
“It’s not that easy. The drywall is compromised. It won’t be strong enough to hold the weight if I move it.”
I’m thinking, Really? Because I can always tell when he’s trying to dazzle me with installation mumb-jumbo. He once tried to tell me that fifty-eight degrees was too chilly an outside temperature to use exterior paint. I’m blonde, but I get it from a bottle, you know? Anyway, I know where this is going so I do the forward retreat. Instead of arguing about what came before because an alpha will never admit they made a mistake, I appeal to his need to be right and go forward. I simply nod and walk off. Which kills him. He hates it when he doesn’t know what I’m thinking. As planned he follows.
“Hey, where are you going? Why are you putting on your shoes?”
“I’m going to the hardware store. I’m going to explain to one of the guys there about these anchors that compromised the drywall and maybe they’ll have some suggestions about how to fix this.”
Okay, imagine his jaw clenching and his teeth gnashing and him letting out a really, REALLY big sigh. “I didn’t say it couldn’t be fixed. I SAID, it couldn’t be lowered because it was on anchors.”
“Oh,” I kick off my shoes, shrug, and saunter past him. “Okay, then.”
“Okay then, what?”
“Don’t lower it. Fix it.”
Ah, you gotta love the forward retreat! It works every time.
Riley