I have told you before about the issues my poor husband has with anything mechanical, technological, or manual. We recently purchased a floor lamp, and for my husband, it was nothing but trouble.
We went to the old faithful Wallet Mart, AKA Walmart. I call the store Wallet Mart because every time we go there we end up buying more things than we needed and thereby cleaning out our wallets.
Anyway, we found our floor lamp in a rather small box labeled with the dreaded words “must be assembled”. I knew this was certainly going to be nothing but trouble.
When we returned home it was almost time for dinner, so my husband set the box in the living room and I proceeded to the kitchen to start our meal. Unfortunately, at that time I began to hear clanking and banging. As I peeked around the corner of the kitchen, there was my husband attempting to empty the box of its contents.
He was struggling with the tape around the box, so I grabbed a pair of scissors and went to help. When I got there, he was pulling tape from around the pieces of floor lamp, and he already had a strand 4 feet long that had somehow wrapped around his arm and part of his leg. Sighing, I started snipping with the scissors and cutting the tape from him and all the floor lamp parts.
“I just can’t believe all this tape,” he said laughing and yanking strips of tape from around objects wrapped in bubble wrap. Tape was sticking to everything as he tried to pull off pieces and toss them back in the box. Sighing, I started yanking the pieces of tape off him again and cutting the tape from around the bubble wrap.
“What are you doing?” he asked briskly. “I’ve got this.”
I could tell he was getting frustrated with me being in there, so reluctantly I left the room and went back to the meal preparation.
I could hear more clanking, grunts, and sounds of frustration coming from the room, but I stayed out to let him do his “man thing” and put the lamp together. He knows he has no talent with this sort of endeavor, and you would think that after 70 years of living he would know by now not to attempt to put anything together at all, but for some crazy reason he still tries and refuses to let me help. But I have learned after 47 years of marriage to wait it out until he throws everything down in frustration and aggravation and then quietly go and take everything apart and reconstruct it.
When dinner was ready, I went into the living room where he was working to tell him to come eat. He stopped me and asked me to hold a piece of metal against another piece of metal while he screwed everything in. I did that and then watched as he tried to stand the platform and the conglomeration of metal bars upright.
Now the original picture on the box showed a tall 4 1/2-foot metal rectangle made out of bars, too long ones and too short ones. They sat tightly on a beautiful wooden platform. But the object my husband held for some reason looked like a misshapen giant “Z” that was wobbling all over the place.
My husband was angry and frustrated. “I just can’t get this thing together!” He fussed.
I knew just what to do. After all, I had had a lot of practice.
“Ohh honey, I am so sorry you’re having a terrible time. I know this was much more complicated than it looked. Come on and eat something, baby, and you’ll feel so much better. I will help you put it together later,” I said soothingly.
Translation? I really didn’t think you could put the thing together anyway, so I went in the kitchen and made comfort food that will fill you up, make you sleepy, and make you leave the thing alone so I can take it all apart and put it back together again myself later.
And that’s what happened.
I actually looked at the instructions (which he did not), took the whole thing apart, rearranged the pieces, and put them together in the order In which they were supposed to go. And the final outcome was a beautiful floor lamp that looked just like the picture on the box.
My husband watched the whole thing sleepily from the couch. And then he said, “It looks great, and can you believe that all of that was packed inside this box that was stuffed in another box. He showed me a white box that was strung across the bottom with metal rods. Before I could say anything, he started to crunch the box.
As calmly as I could I asked him to stop. “Sweetie, please don’t crunch that box together, it’s the lamp shade.”
He chuckled rather embarrassed and handed me the lamp shade. I put it on top of the floor lamp with a crunched side facing the wall. It was beautiful, but it needed a light bulb. My husband ran and found one in the cabinet. He returned screwed it into the lamp and when the light came on he proudly looked at me and said, “I knew you would like this lamp, and I knew it was perfect for this side of the room. It lights up everything, and you will enjoy it while you sit in the recliner.”
He was so proud that he had retrieved the light bulb, and it actually worked. There is no way I was taking that victory away from him. And so even though the floor lamp idea was mine, and even though I put the whole thing together myself, I let him have this win. He had found a light bulb. Eureka!
So I said to him with adoration in my voice, “oh, honey, you were so right! It is beautiful and perfect for this side of the room. You did great!”
And that’s why we have been married for 47 years.
