My friend’s husband is a very handy man. During the pandemic, he stepped on the sewing machine and made stylish masks to give to people around her wife, and at the end of the year, I even received a scarf. Not only is he good at fixing things around the house, but he also plants herbs in the garden and shares herbal tea with the neighbors.
"How lucky my friend must be to have such a considerate husband,"
I said to my husband.
"I can make things too. Just give me a sewing machine."
"Really?"
"When I was single and worked part-time at a clothing store, especially during the back-to-school season, I shortened the bottom of my jeans until the sewing machine caught fire. The store owner was impressed with my skills. Shall I make you a drawing table instead?"
""Are you going to Home Depot again?"
"I have a wooden board in the studio. I’ll bring it and make one."
A few days later, while looking at my husband's credit card statement, I saw that he bought a plank from Home Depot for a whopping $102. I knew this would happen. For that money, I could have bought a designer table from IKEA.
"You said you had a wooden board in the studio. I told you to use whatever was lying around. Why did you buy new wood?"
"I thought it would be better to use good quality materials since I’m making it anyway."
"I already saw a table at Ikea that I want to buy. Oh, never mind."
My husband’s nickname is ‘The Carpenter of Greenpoint.’ I can't mention wanting to buy furniture. He always insists on making it himself. Once he decides to make something, he chases me around with a ruler to measure everything from my feet to my waist height. He repeatedly shows me the plans and revises them. While sometimes I like what he makes, I still think about the furniture I had my eye on at IKEA and feel disappointed. But what can I do with a husband who loves to make things? If I take that away from him, what joy will he have in life? In the end, I give up, knowing that eventually, I'll either break it down or repurpose it for something else.
He cut the wooden board in the Greenpoint studio, primed it, and hauled it over with a hand cart. As soon as he arrived, he was too eager to make it to even look at my face. Once he finished, he looked at it from every angle, touched it closely, and stepped back to examine it.
“Wow! It was well made. You worked hard.”
At the dinner table, I said again,
"You did a great job. Thank you."
I glanced at my husband’s face, and he looked pleased as punch.
"My friend’s husband even dyes her hair. Could you dye my hair like he does?"
"You're really working me to the bone. Am I your servant? I can't do that. Go to the hair salon. I’ll give you the money."
By listing my friend’s husband’s talents, I got a drawing table and secured some funds for an expensive hair salon visit.
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