Last night Harry and I ventured, once again, to the big land of home improvement - Lowe's.
I've heard that 70% of marriages that involve building a home end in divorce. Makes me wonder how many couples navigating a home repair disaster end in - homicide!
"Holly! HOLLY!" Harry has found something. And from the urgency in his voice - it's the home repair equivilant to the holy grail. He drags me to a small stainless steel appliance. He's beaming. I'm trying to figure out what the hell it is.
"It's an ICEMAKER," he says.
"It's twelve-hundred dollars," I jab a nail-bitten finger at the large black and white sign.
"Yeah, but it - makes ice." He's so happy. I hate to burst his bubble. But I'm his wife and, heck, I'm pretty sure it's my job to kill his dreams - er- or something like that.
"Honey, you want to replace our trash compactor with an ice maker even though our brand new fridge has filtered ice and water?" I say it gently, thinking he'll get the point.
"Yes. It fits perfectly." Uh-oh. I'm in trouble here. Send in Nanny 911 - we're about to have a 26 year-old tantrum in aisle four...
"Why don't we just get a cabinet to go there... Maybe one with a filing system in it?" I try to reason with him.
It's no use.
His eyes are glazed over with thoughts of ice-filled beverages.
I've lost him.