Someone bought the house next door to us. I noticed the sale pending sign on it a few weeks ago and immediately went into panic mode. Most everything sends me into panic mode, but the idea of new neighbors seems particularly terrifying.
What if they are members of a deaf metal band whose perfectionism compels them they rehearse constantly? What if they are serial killers who bury the bodies of their victims in their backyard? What if they are a family of clowns who wear their clown suits and makeup while doing yard work? Even worse, what if those clowns make balloon animals and try to give them to me?
We fixed our fence the other day in preparation for the new neighbors. Two of the posts had rotted and it was leaning against the neighbor’s fence.
My husband and I make a good team because he’s such a perfectionist and I’m so impatient. Fixing the fence involved string lines and levels and standing in the cement section of Home Depot for what seemed like ten years trying to figure out which type of cement was best.
“How about this bag of cement?” I say pointing to a random bag with red writing on it. “Quick setting, that sounds good to me.” All I’m really thinking about is the half gallon of milk in the car. I have to say something otherwise he could spend hours in Home Depot comparing post diggers and trying to decide which company makes the best cement.
When my husband told me that fixing the fence was a two or possibly three day job, he was including one full day in Home Depot in his calculations. It turned out to be a two day job just because we had to wait for the cement to dry.
My husband makes sure things get done right and I make sure decisions are made so they can actually get done.