This is day five of the re-decorating of our bedroom, and I have only screamed at Mark three times today. I could have screamed at him even more times than that, but he went out to shop for a little while and if he's not around I just scream and curse at the walls. Seeing as the walls have done just about as much as Mark has done around here, it is appropriate. Mark watches too much Bravo Television. He envisions himself as the "decorator" and me as the hired help. Mark has picked out everything from the floor covering, to the color on the walls, to the lighting. I have no problem with that. I have horrible decorating skills. My house used to look like a bad yard sale was going on before Mark moved in here. What I have a problem with is Mark's micro-managing.
"You missed a spot on the ceiling over there. Couldn't you sand that rough spot on the wall down a little more? Really, that's how you patch a cracked wall? When are you going to finish putting up that ceiling fan?"
He tells me all this while he sits in front of his computer at his desk in the middle of the room I am supposed to be painting.
"Well just work around me. I need my desk and computer and television and shouldn't you use a drop cloth when you're doing that?"
Except it's not a drop cloth I want. More like a drop kick... right in his ass.
To the moon Alice to the moon.
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