Acting Reality

"You two were busy last weekend," my 85 year-old neighbor said watering her geraniums.

"Norma, we went out, we celebrated, we laughed with friends!" I said as Mr. Wonderful and I set out the garbage bins. 

"Good," she said.

"It was great!"

"What will you do this weekend?"

"Work on the house," Mr. Wonderful said.

"… Oh."

Norma was born and bred in Hollywood but she was a terrible actress. She couldn't even pretend to hide her disappointment that after we'd had a DIY job-free weekend that we didn't want to make it a double header and play DIY hooky this weekend, too. Actually the DIY plans were Mr. Wonderful's. Personally I wasn't thrilled that we would be returning to the home improvement store--again--and getting sweaty, dirty and gross--again--for the benefit of The House--again. But I didn't let on to my spouse because unlike Norma I was (drum roll) an Ac-tor.  

Channeling Bette Davis, I found my motivation, flipped my hair back and tossed Norma a smile. "Yes, this weekend we're going to work on The House. Isn't that grand!" Then I waltzed to the curb pushing the stinky trash bin. Acting is all about putting on a brave face when the show must go on. At least that's what I learned from Lee Strasberg. Or was it Miss Piggy?

"Good morning neighbors!" a red-headed woman hollered from the street, her fluorescent power walking sneakers catching a flare from the morning sun. "Where were you last weekend?"

"Mary, we went out on the town to eat, drink and be merry!" I said with a grin Jennifer Lawrence would envy.   

"You didn't work on your house at all?"

"Nope!"

"But we will this weekend," Mr. Wonderful said.

"… Oh."

Mary was the nicest woman in the neighborhood. Correction, the nicest human being on the planet but even she could not pretend to be the good Christian woman she was and feign happiness that we would be working on the House--again--stirring up dust--again--drilling every hard surface we owned--again. The bible is full of Good Christian women but devoid of Academy Award winning actresses. Luckily I, the Ac-tor, was present to add the theatrical pizzazz.

"We left The House alone but, I do declare, we missed it so," I said dabbing my eyes with a tissue a la Vivien Leigh as 'Blanche DuBois'. "This weekend we won't spend it with the kindness of strangers but in the comfort of our beloved House." I couldn't let Mr. Wonderful question my motivation for the scene or my commitment to the DIY work on The House. And the Academy Award goes to moi!

Mary and my spouse looked at me as if I'd gone off my rocker--again. They clearly did not appreciate Tennessee Williams or the the-a-ter. What amateurs!

Climbing into our cars our 86 year old-neighbor waved us down.

"It was quiet here last weekend."

"Because, Harold, we spent the whole time on the town."

"… Oh." He rubbed his bald head. "What're you doing this weekend?"

"Working on The House," Mr. Wonderful said. 

"Sounds exciting," Harold said his eyes lighting up like sparklers on an August evening. "What're you going to do?" His enthusiasm for our DIY work was so genuine and so real it made me realize that: 1) Harold liked when we worked on The House. 2) Our DIY projects allowed Harold to vicariously experience home improvement. 3) Harold was a better actor than me. 

And the Academy Award goes to... Harold.

Always the bridesmaid never the bride. Sigh. It's a bummer being just an amateur.

Shopping Together

"It's the weekend!" I said digging into my breakfast omelet at the restaurant table.

Mr. Wonderful smiled.

"A mini vacation. We can see our friends, the beach, the moon!"

He smiled.

"We can do anything today!"

"Let's go to the home improvement store."

My heart sank. Here we were enjoying our first sunshiny day without home improvement and he wanted to drop this for hardware? What idiot ever named him Mr. Wonderful? Oh yeah, right. 

Since we bought The House, going to The Home Depot, Lowe's and any other home improvement store west of the Timbucktu had become our Saturday ritual, our Sunday ritual and a Hump day must do thingy. Today I would have preferred doing anything else like walking on glass, eating glass or poking my eyes out with glassy glass needles. After all we'd just finished redoing the front garden and already Mr. Wonderful wanted to start something new. What dingbat named him Mr. Wonderful?! Oh yeah, right.

"New" was not entirely true. Actually we were finishing up some interior painting we'd started before Christmas and Mr. Wonderful wanted to finish it now. 

"What's the rush?" 

"It's been six months," he said getting behind the steering wheel. 

"So?" I said sliding in next to him. "Who's counting?" 

"I am."

What a dilemma. Should I choose my marriage or my sanity?  

I made a proposal. I'd go to the hardware store (again) with Mr. Wonderful as long as we could: 1) Go to a different store; 2) Swim in the pool and; 3) Get smoothies. With a raised eyebrow and a bucketful of apprehension he stared at me for a full minute. What bozo named him Mr. Wonderful?! Oh yeah, right.

Finally he agreed. We ordered Jamba Juice smoothies--I got mine with extra boosts of vitamin C, patience and endurance. Then we strolled the aisles of a home improvement store we'd never been to. It was like being on vacation! They had paint but it was on the left hand side of the store not the right--Amazing! They had patio furniture but it was inside not outside--So cutting edge! And like every other store on the planet, they had concrete floors but theirs were polished to the color of fine mahogany--What a great idea!

He pushed the cart and I jumped on the front for some city surfing. We busted up laughing. Then I pushed him and he surfed. We laughed even more. Just when I thought it couldn't get any better, we saw a friend of ours.
"What are you doing here?" I said giving Bob a hug.
"Getting supplies. Hey! Where'd you get the smoothies?" I let him try mine. "Great combination." The three of us chatted and laughed for an hour and not once did I think where we were. We hugged Bob goodbye and paid for everything at the checkout.

As the sun climbed overhead we painted; Mr. Wonderful on the ladder and I on my knees. For several hours I was bent into positions the human body was not meant to do. Ever. When we finished I spent another hour washing paint from the brushes and cleaning up. 

"How you feeling?" he asked.

"Tired."

"What about that swim in the pool?"

He'd remembered our deal. What Einstein named him Mr. Wonderful? Oh yeah, right!