Manolo says, it is Monday, and you are happily back as your desk doing whatever it is you do for the Man, having spent the final part of the weekend engaged in the big argument with your insensitive lout of the husband.
For years now you have been suggesting that you would like to remodel the basement, removing the knotty pine paneling, green shag carpeting, and that funky leather-clad wet bar, all of which were the handiwork of the previous owners. Of the course, Gary resisted your proposed changes for as long as he could. He has always considered the basement to be his own personal “Fortress of Gary-tude” (which is ridiculous as he already has the garage and the back shed reserved for his various man antics).
However, in August, he finally relented after making the disturbing discovery in the cushions of his sectional.
“Hey! Look what I found,” he said, standing in the kitchen, beaming like Howard Carter and holding something dessicated and black.
“Ugh, what is it?”
“I think it’s an Italian hero sandwich,” And then he mimed bringing it up to his mouth, as if to take the big bite.
“Aaack! Don’t do that!”
After you both agreed that it was probably the leftover from the Super Bowl party, circa 2003, you went to the kitchen drawer where you keep your remodeling dream plans and magazine clippings and pulled out your notes for the basement and handed them to Gary.
“For hygienic reasons, if nothing else,” you said.
Gary just nodded his head, and got immediately to work ordering the new custom beer refrigerator and giant flat-screen television.
And everything had been going remarkably well, until this Saturday, when Gary did the final painting, and you were not there to supervise. You had to spend the day with your 80-year-old mother (the woman should not be driving, which means you are increasingly called upon to go shopping with her, which means lunch at Lubys, which you cannot stand).
So you left Gary with the specific instructions for the paint shopping at the Home Depot: Arabian Sand for three walls, and Sahara Sun (the pleasant light brick red) for the accent wall. But when you got home you found that he had somehow become confuddled and painted three of the walls Sahara Sand, and the fourth Arabian Sun (the wan orange).
And, when you pointed out this egregious error, Gary refused to make the changes.
“I’m done painting, Babe.”
Things escalated from there, and by Sunday afternoon you were not speaking to each other, which seemed to suit Gary just fine, for while you were sulking, he had already moved in the foosball table, new furniture, and big screen television and taken delivery of the pony keg of Sierra Nevada Pale Ale.
Happily, by late Sunday evening, Gary, bouyed by several pints of quality beer and the loss of the Pittsburgh Steelers, put the moves on you, and so you reconciled yourself to the new color scheme and your husband’s mannish indifference to chromatic loveliness.
Still, you need something colorful to lift your spirits, and so you surf to the Manolo’s humble shoe blog hoping to see beautiful shoes, and there you find these deep rose-colored Dolce & Gabbana pumps and you realize that life is pretty good.