Hammers, Nails. Nothing in particular.

So, this morning, I was trying to get a new button sewn on my pants before I left for work. It had broken BROKEN. OFF. due to the strain on it of encompassing the ever-increasing me. However, I stopped briefly to go hang a picture because Sweet Baboo was taking a shower. These things are related: Baboo taking a shower, me hanging up a picture, and the fact that my hair looks like crap today.

I will explain.

So, not long after we first moved to the new house I was walking across the house one day with a small hammer in my hand and passed Baboo, who immediately deviated from his course to ask, with as much casualness as he could muster (trying very hard to keep the concern, anxiety, and worry from his voice,) Sooooo...where ya goin’ with that hammer?

Have you played this game? You might be tempted to answer with one of the following:

a) I’m looking for a rusty railroad spike to drive into the wall!
b) You know, I’ve had it with those damned cats...
c) I’m going to hang a picture on a nail but change my mind until there’s at least 20 holes in a small area of the wall.

Now, I’ve checked, and this is apparently a question for the ages, asked of many a partner to their significant other, mostly out of concern, sometimes out of a need to micromanage, always annoying.

To be fair to Baboo, I must confess that I have been known to do anything to hang a picture: My mother was a professional artist, and over the years I’ve assembled a collection of certain things that must be hung or it just won’t feel like home. I will generally, if provided with them, use the proper picture-hanging nail and hook, but if they are not available immediately I have been known to use, in this order: finishing nails, roofing hails, wood screws, bolts, rusty bits of metal, bits of hard wiring cut and sharpened to a point.

I have, furthermore, used the following when either a hammer wasn’t available or I was too busy to go look for one: rocks, the heels of sturdy shoes, the heels of lesser sturdy shoes, the back of a cordless phone, a meat tenderizer, spoons, forks, the flat of a sturdy knife, the handle of a screw driver, and a marble rolling pin.

It isn't that we can't afford stuff. We can. It's just that hanging a piece of artwork, for me, is a whole tenstion-release thing. It must be hung. Now. No, NOW. IT MUST BE HUNG. I CANNOT WAIT FOR A TRIP TO LOWES!

And I’ve left some awful holes. Not holes that couldn’t be patched, mind you…with some toothpaste and a wet sponge...many of my skills having never really evolved much further than dorm living, but the holes get patched, y'all. But. Anyway.

So it isn’t strictly for purposes of micromanaging that Baboo began following me through the house and asking me where was I going with that hammer.

However,

He had bought me a tack hammer, and some proper picture-hanging nails and hooks, and I’ve been a good girl; I’ve been using them. Nevertheless, he has been following me through the house and questioning me about every decision I make to hang artwork of any sort...however kindly and patiently he asks, and he always asks kindly and patiently, but the stress of the ever-present question, though, has gotten to me to the point that I’ve determined that the best time to hang a picture is while Baboo is taking his shower.

Which brings me to this morning.

I had just enough time to sew on a button, but Baboo stepped into the shower and I realized that I had some prime picture-hanging time available, so I abandoned the button-sewing and dashed to spare bedroom to hang the picture, thereby squandering the available time to sew on the button. The button was sewn on after he got out of the shower, thereby squandering available makeup time...as I have mentioned in the past, I'll wear makeup in an Ironman, so I'm SURE not going to work without makeup on and I was GOING TO GET SOME MAKEUP ON MY FACE, thereby using up the time to do my hair properly.

See, it’s all related.

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