Now I could say that it was merely a heated debate. I could call it an argument. But it was a fight. No screaming, just a yes-it-is, no-it’s-not, YES-IT-IS! kind of fight. And over what? Shade for the pool and pool deck.
Rusty has an architecture background; he can construct anything. I have an HGTV background; I can order anything. Raise your hand if you’ve seen the commercial: How to install a washing machine with one finger . . . the homeowner subtly points her finger at the washer, moving the finger to-and-fro’ just an inch or so . . . camera pans to the installer scooting the washer an inch closer to its matching dryer. This is precisely how I see myself. It’s how April trained me. Order it from Amazon, call the installer (and if Rusty won’t do it I bet that my new pal Jose Gomez will), and install the sunshade(s).
Rusty, by his own admission, can over-engineer anything. This is the man who once went into a garage to organize some tools, and three hours later emerged with a beautifully built cardboard box, its opening with perfectly mitered duct tape around the hole for garage rags. Truly, he engineered a box to stow rags.
To this day, when Rusty disappears to accomplish a task, I ask if he’ll first need to build a box. He knows precisely what I mean.
Fifteen minutes later we realized that we were actually on the same page about the high-cone thatched thing and did agree that for future discussions, this gentleman would be named Fifteen Thousand Dollar Joe. And Joe, I apologize if you really are named Joe and I’ve forgotten you.
So who won the fight, you ask? That’s still to be determined. But I’ll say this: who doesn’t have any new patio furniture, and who sits next to me right now whittling a back-scratcher with his new whittling/carving tools. Just remember, darling, it’s my pearl on Sundays. Seventh Rule: Fights will go on as long as they have to. Lo que hay.