Memorial Day weekend Sunday found us back at the baby barn attempting to build it’s doors.
And as with every other part of that little building from Hell, it did not go smoothly.
I should probably point out that the husband and I do not always work well together. I’m a planner, a lister, an organizer who has all my tools and materials ready before I begin a job.
Husband is a spur of the moment, work on the fly and make do with what’s laying around type of guy.
He wants to get it done, I want it to look good. So I felt the need to sketch out the door design. Very technically as you can see…
Should the cross pieces resemble a Christmas tree, a diamond or the German SS insignia?
Decisions had to be made.
So a double Z was chosen.
Did the doors fit perfectly?
Of course not.
But after I slapped on just enough paint to install the hardware…
We discovered just how badly they didn’t fit.
Which was when the husband really got aggravated…. and I did what any sane wife would do.
I grabbed cocktail in a can…
And went to sit on the big barn porch.
Close enough that I could hear him hollering for me….
But far enough away to be out of frustration range.
And look who joined me.
Clearly there were no hard feelings from the traumatic baby ousting the day before.
Of course by the time I finished my cocktail and things had quieted down enough at the baby barn for me to return….
I realized that he’d put my door handles too closely together.
Did I tell him?
I did not.