Perfection is expensive. It is for this reason that my husband put me on a tight budget for 2014, my self-proclaimed year of perfection. I find this quite disturbing.
My husband thinks that the year of perfection is a wonderful idea. He’s all for it. Just as long as we make a plan. I swear to God. Why in the name of Accalon Almighty do we have to make a plan? Seriously? I mean what the heck is he thinking.
The shower floor is seriously damaged and water is pooling underneath the tiles because the grout is missing. This is serious. This should be fixed right away. He doesn’t think it’s serious. He says its fine. I say we fix soggy tiles that flop around when I try to clean them.. We have the money. We can afford to fix things. However, we must wait. Wait for what? A cold day in hell? Perhaps.
But I don’t say a thing. I’m about to paint the kitchen floor the color of dog blood, and I really need to put him in a good mood. It helps buffer the shock factor when I start spreading red paint all over the tile floor.
Envelope plan. Sure. You bet. Just what I’ve always wanted to do. Can I get you a cup of hot tea? Can I make you some buttered scones or a crepe suzette? Care for a foot massage?