I said BLUE. Get your minds out of the gutter.
As some of my facebook crowd know, the future Mrs DCF and I are going through what is described as ‘one of the three most stressful things’; moving house.
I’m curious about what the other two are, but Google reckons it’s getting married and getting divorced.
Check and check!
Now I don’t actually find moving house that stressful. It’s tiring and very time consuming yes, but other than the female assumptions that painting entire rooms is a task that takes maybe an hour and the ensuing ‘discussions’ that causes, I don’t really mind the whole upheaval thing.
I impressed upon the long-haired-chief that it simply wasn’t feasible or indeed necessary – at all – to paint said room, and that was that.
So as I was unexpectedly painting the entire living room this afternoon, Mrs DCF decided to take certain matters into her own hands and perform what is described as a ‘blue’ job.
For those not up to speed with the terminology there are ‘pink’ jobs, such as selecting colour schemes and matching tones (I’m pretending to have a clue what that means) as well as deciding the order in which the ‘blue’ jobs are conducted. These tasks are not exclusive, and are often overlaid simultaneously with compiling a mental shopping list; the paying for which turns out to be a ‘blue’ job, apparently.
The ‘blue’ jobs are such things as putting together ikea furniture (which apparently shouldn’t take as long as it does according to her expectations) as well as doing 91.68% of the heavy lifting in between being scolded for not having done something I said I would do.
I’m sure plenty of others have fallen into that trap of agreeing without actually listening.
I digress. And before anyone cries chauvinism, it isn’t. It’s purely gender stereotyping, which is ok as long as it’s funny.
Anyway, Mrs DCF decided to take upon herself the ‘blue’ job of putting together a piece of furniture.
The first I suspected of this was when I heard the clang of metal and the sweet, dulcet tones of bad language drifting through the air.
With a smug grin to myself I carried on with the task of painting whilst trying to convince myself that the new colour scheme was in fact my idea.
“Well” I thought to myself with paint-speckled smugness “this is going to end in tears!”
Oh, how the stereotypes have been shattered.
Mrs DCF had single-handedly, effectively and totally successfully assembled… a shoe rack.
Without the requirement to use any tools.
It had nine parts.
She was so proud of herself.
When I failed to share in this excitement her face made that transformation from happy, to something infinitely more dangerous.
It was at this point, I knew I’d made a mistake.
In order to assuage the rising anger she was experiencing, she shortly after left the premises in order to conduct other pink-related retail acquisitions.
So I showed her what an experienced blue job man can do… I’d assembled a real piece of furniture (requiring the use of multiple tools), I’d conducted scientific measurements of the new washing line and quickly assembled it (squints through one eye and reckons that’ll be about right-ish before drilling the required holes) and I’d carried no less than a dozen boxes from the car.
I then performed the simultaneous setup of not one but TWO televisions (men can multitask too!) and just as I finished to settle down and enjoy my Yoda-like serenity with a refreshing beverage, Mrs F walks back in heavily laden with purchases.
Where she proceeds to list the staggering plethora of blue jobs I had completely neglected to do in her absence.
Now given my previous ability to participate in conversations without actually paying attention, I wasn’t confident enough to claim complete innocence. As I tried my best to calm her, I gently pointed out the impressive tasks I had accomplished, single-handedly I added, whilst she was out.
None of which, I was assured, had been a priority during the timeframe.
So, if my ramblings have any messages hidden deeply within, they are as follows:
1- Chances are, you weren’t listening!
2- If she is proud of something, share it with her!
3- Hide my bank card (that one was just for me, actually)
But most importantly, the revisited experience of ‘one of the top three most stressful things’ has impressed upon me the importance of balance in a relationship. Of shared abilities as a unit instead of individual prowess. Of being a team.
A relationship can be defined as living with someone you might one day stifle in their sleep with a pillow, but you never do because you’d miss them too much!
…that and constantly asking each other what they want to eat.