Plastic Walls?

There’s a lot of trust that goes into a marriage.

My wife a real DIY fan, which is pretty great since we have two highly destructive little people in our house (I’m being nice here, I don’t know why.  The toddler can’t read.  He’s the one that breaks stuff, we can’t have nice things because of the toddler.)  We found out some time ago that bathtubs can break.  Then we found out that boats get a special underwater glue that also works to seal tubs.  Pretty ingenious fix.  My wife wanted something more ‘professional’ and less ‘there’s a giant blob of hardened glue in the center of the tub that undoubtedly trip one of us.”  Little things.

So she set about fixing that.  We have a relationship centered around helping one another reach goals, complete tasks and general being supportive of these endeavors.  We do not have a relationship based on fully explaining the details of completing most tasks.

One morning I step into our bathroom and found myself in a scene from Dexter.  

A whole series of thoughts ran through my head.  Had I once again forgot to replace the trash bag and she was sending me some sort of passive aggressive meta-commentary?  Had the boys taken to drawing on the walls and she was using some sort of passive aggressive meta-commentary to get the them to stop?  Was I focusing too much on meta-commentary and ignoring regular commentary?  Does regular commentary still exist?

I get distracted sometimes, but not once did I seriously think, despite evidence quite to the contrary, that I had stepped into a murder hut.

Marriage, as it turns out, is about the sort of trust that makes one blind to the possibility of a very clean ‘disappearance’.

It turns out the stuff to replace the glue needs be sprayed on, like creating a new top layer, so the walls needed to be protected.  Or at least that what she claims…