My Secret Magazines

I keep them in a stack under the bed, where I can pull them out when I need to. I open them up and look at the pictures. I'll take one of those, and one of those, and...

Laughing Boy walks in. And I shove the Interior Decorating magazine under the pillow, so he won't see.

I can't help myself. The first time I bought them, I actually needed to pick a paint color for something. Even though I can't paint. I mean, I am physically capable of painting. But it always goes so horribly wrong. I have no hand eye coordination or depth perception. And somehow, no matter how careful I am, I never mastered the trick of loading just the right amount of paint onto the brush or the roller. So I end up dripping and splattering. And then I bump the roller into the one wall I was going to leave the old color, for contrast. And the brush marks and stray bristles are everywhere.

I tried to repaint a kitchen one time. I washed with TSP. I scrubbed. I prepped. I sanded twice, with two grades of sand paper. I primered with the expensive stuff. And still, on one of the four walls and two of the cupboards, the paint slumped down in huge melty horror movie swags. The wall actually rejected the paint.

But that doesn't keep me from buying the magazines. And I'll read them, and show the pictures to Laughing Boy. "The bedroom would be great this color..." "What do you think of this one?" "I'd love these colors for the master bath..."

I just hope the guys never start doing that with their secret magazines.

Every time, though, he nods and makes some noncommittal noises. Sometimes he even kisses my forehead. Which makes him a saint. Because he knows who will be doing the actual painting. Did I tell you he can paint perfect trim, and edge anything, without using painters' tape?

I love that man.