It's safe to say I'm a pretty low maintenance guy.
Very low maintenance. Too low, perhaps.
I just like to write my stories and go home and play with my daughter. Go to the movies, go to some ballgames. Go get some pizza. That's pretty much me.
My wife has often (kind of) joked, if it wasn't for her, I'd be living in a hovel somewhere and would be perfectly happy. When she says that, I always picture myself shuffling around in Yoda's hut on Dagobah in "Empire Strikes Back."
She's not too far off, actually. If I didn't have her and other family members (along with Index publisher Judi Burns) to keep me on the straight and narrow, I probably would be living in a hovel somewhere.
All I really need, in regard to shelter and furnishings, is a roof that doesn't leak, a flat screen TV, a comfortable couch, an air conditioner, a computer to type stories on, a wi-fi signal and a refrigerator with food in it. That's pretty much it.
However, I'm married to a smart, beautiful, industrious Southern woman, so things can't be quite that simple. You see, smart, beautiful, industrious Southern women always have to have a "project" going on.
My wife is always thinking of the next project to do in our house or change she wants to make in the house. She has changed various curtains in the house approximately 278 times. She collects curtains like kids used to collect baseball cards. We need an extra house just to keep all of the curtains.
Some nights, we'll be relaxing in the front room and, without warning, she'll point to a perfectly good piece of furniture and say something like, "You know, I'd really like to get that dining room hutch painted."
Flash forward a couple of days and the dining room hutch is headed out the door to be painted.
One of my wife's greatest skills - seriously, she's like James Bond in this regard - is "asking" my opinion about yet another home project and getting me to agree to it without me even realizing she asked.
Typically, it goes like this: I'm in the living room. A ballgame is on - a good one - and I'm into it. She knows this trick works best if it's a University of South Carolina football or basketball game, or a Los Angeles Lakers game.
As the game gets late - I mean when it starts getting right down to crunch time - she will breeze into the living room and casually say something like, "I want to put in granite countertops in the kitchen."
Seeing as how I'm watching the game and Kobe Bryant is attempting to line up a game-winning shot, her statement registers in my brain as "Bleep bloop dee dock blah boh." My verbal response is "Sounds good, honey."
When a contractor is in our kitchen two days later measuring for new countertops, I think to myself, "How did this happen?"
This is how the give-and-take goes when my wife wants a project done. She gives the orders and I take them, sometimes unwittingly.
Except for last week, when I turned the tables on her.
THE LATEST HOME PROJECT I apparently agreed to - possibly while I was sleeping - is the remodeling of our bathroom. As part of said project, a representative from Bath Fitter was summoned to the house to pitch us on one of their bathtub overlays.
I played no part in scheduling the Bath Fitter representative's appearance, but was assured by my wife I had indeed been informed he was coming and I thought it was a great idea.
So, the gentleman from Bath Fitter - a mountain of a man who looked like a UFC fighter had a baby with Jean-Claude Van Damme - came over and told us what he had to offer.
Here's the thing: I liked what the man had to say. He had a good pitch. The product seems solid and, from what I have heard and read, the company has a good reputation. The price he quoted for the job was more than fair.
So, in a seeming moment of clarity, and seeing as how my wife clearly wanted to get the ball rolling on this bathroom project, I turned to the Bath Fitter gentleman and said, "Sound's great. When can y'all start?"
My wife suddenly got a look I had never seen before. First, her face flushed red, then, she seemed to turn white as a ghost. Her eyes focused in the distance, as if she was trying to come to grips with a cataclysmic event. Her knees buckled and she had to sit down.
You see, I had willingly - and knowingly - agreed to a home project. It was too much for her. In fact, she even tried to balk, saying she needed time to think about it.
After reminding her she was the one who wanted the bathroom remodeled, she eventually snapped to her senses and set about picking the color for the tub overlay.
It's not often I get to turn the tables on my wife when it comes to a home project.
Speaking of tables, you'll have to excuse me for a moment. There are two men loading a new kitchen table off a truck in front of my house right now.
When did I agree to this one?
Trainor is the senior staff writer at the Index-Journal. Contact him at 943-5650; email email@example.com. You can follow him on Twitter @IJCHRISTRAINOR. Views expressed in this column are those of the writer only and do not represent the newspaper's opinion.