I believe that today and for the first time in two weeks since the divorce process began, the fact we would no longer be ‘an item’ has finally become a reality for my wife.
How do I know this?
Simply put, she had begun to think of just what would be required in order for her to survive the ‘wilderness’ ahead.
Clearly she had put much time and effort into compiling her plan, as top of the list, was a new bathroom suite.
Of course and taking into account my considerable experience of her ‘unique’ way of thinking, this came as no real surprise.
What I found slightly more upsetting, was that the ‘oldy worldy’ cottage bathroom (in a real cottage) she was about to destroy, had actually been lovingly and skillfully installed by myself some 5 or 6 years previously.
At this point it’s worth mentioning that my wife has a history of demolishing the many results of my blood, sweat and tears – but that’s another story.
So with sledge hammer and pick axe to hand, she set forth in ‘removing’ various items, such as a cast iron bath (in manageable pieces), victorian lavatory and sink. I of course (in the interest of peace) offered to be on hand for advice and assistance etc, which included the suggestion that she disconnect and blank off the plumbing for example.
Here then is to be found the first obstacle many will face when attempting to help out with the other-half’s projects.
“I can do it !!!” and quickly followed by “Just tell me how.”
Knowing better than to offer any reasonable words of wisdom (I wouldn’t want to be putting her down now), I give her a quick verbal list of the tools she’ll need to tackle the task. In this case it’s push-fit plumbing, so a hacksaw, stanley knife, pipe inserts and stop-ends are all that’s required.
Off she goes to the workshop, though I’m quickly summoned to provide ‘guidance’ on identifying the various tools and parts required.
I then explain the process, which shortly leads to me demonstrating what’s involved by cutting and blanking off the ‘cold pipe’ myself.
Credit where credit’s due, she duly does the necessary to the ‘hot pipe’. I suppose hot pipe would be a slight exaggeration. The house we live in and thanks to the inescapable leadership (I think that’s the word) of my wife, has never featured such luxuries as running hot water, but that’s another story.
Whilst I’m on the subject and come to think of it, we’ve never had central heating either, but that’s . . .
By now, she’s beside herself (almost orgasmic) with delight at her newly found mastery of DIY, and quickly informs her many ‘friends’ on Fartbook. She omits to mention the scene of devestation as a result of her almost ‘psychotic’ home improvement drive. Not to worry, I’m here to clear up the razor sharp pieces of cast iron and porcelain.
Here then is the crux of the matter. I now face the prospect of neither bathing or passing my ‘daily motions’ for the next 6 months, unless it seems, I install a new suite.
Naturally, the other half assumes (no, expects) that I will simply jump at the chance like a doting puppy to carry out the required work. After all, it will make her so happy and she’ll love me so much more if I do.
Hang on a second, we’re getting divorced, and there is something strangely familiar about all of this. Indeed, I can feel the strange tightness and worrying pain down the centre of my chest.
On second thoughts, maybe the reality of divorce hasn’t actually reached my wife yet.
Where I’m concerned however, it’s moments such as this that remind me I’m on the right path.
Now breath . . . š
Stay vigilant. They're everywhere.
Clint Eastwood 3 years, 2 months ago.
