There was a time in our marriage when I was completely submissive. I didn’t really have an opinion about anything, never contradicted Graeme, and never questioned anything he said or did. I thought he was practically perfect in every way, like Mary Poppins with a beard.
So when he told me we were going to drive from California to Mississippi to remodel a duplex in the middle of summer, I thought it was a great idea.
It was a terrible idea.
This pig was going to need a lot of lipstick.
Here’s a nice picture of Graeme in the bathroom. I realize the after photo still looks pretty dang bad, but consider the improvement from a hole in the floor to a bathtub, working toilet AND toilet paper. It’s quite luxurious compared to the bathroom we had to use that one time in Mexico when something terrible happened to Graeme…
I’m still a Very Nice Wife, and a Submissive Wife, but I have also learned over the years, that my opinion, delivered nicely, makes life better for everyone. If Graeme were to say to me now, after nine years of marriage and two summers in Mississippi, “Oh, what do you think about going back to Mississippi to remodel a terrible nightmare money pit of a duplex?” I’d be more like “Aw hell, no, sweetie.”
But not really. I would just think that and then say something nice instead because I am more precious than rubies.
I have found that even when I’m annoyed at Graeme, I can’t be mean to him. I’ll think “As soon as he comes in for lunch I will give him a piece of my mind for real this time,” and then he walks in the door and I’m like “Ooh it’s nice to see you, how’s it going?” And then I’ll call him by a nice nickname you don’t need to know.
Anyway, back when I had no thoughts, we went to Laurel, Mississippi, which is where they now film the HGTV show Home Town in which Ben and Erin Napier sweat profusely whilst pretending to have a good time destroying toilets in the middle of a Mississippi summer.
Actually, I have no idea what the show is about because we don’t have a TV, but I know enough about HGTV shows to be certain that at least one toilet is destroyed in a very vigorous manner AT LEAST once every season. Right? Okay, maybe not. But I have seen a lot of ladies who look like they just got pedicures yesterday destroying perfectly good walls.
Anyways, Graeme did some work for the Napiers back when Ben was just known for being a Very Tall Dude, and he was supposed to build some shelves for their living room, but then his friend Ian had to build them by himself because Graeme was busy hitting on a girl in Mexico City. And, as you know, that worked out really well for him…
I never met Erin, but Ben came over once and squeezed himself through the duplex door to inspect our work and mosquito bites, and I remember thinking, “This guy will be famous one day for sweating on TV whilst destroying toilets.”
Anyway…we arrived in Mississippi in 2013, which happened to be the time in my life when I had the minimum amounts of fat and muscle required to live. I looked like a lollipop with eyes. I’m not sure how my neck was able to support my head. And this is when Graeme hired me to be his contractor wife.
Look at me, in charge of the situation. I totally know what I’m doing.
The end result was not glamorous, but it was livable, and that was quite an accomplishment. Here’s the kitchen, before the remodel:
And this is what it looked like when we were done with it, and also life:
Graeme owned a house in Ellisville and a duplex in Laurel (pronounced “Lawl”), which he had acquired as a dare, I think. The duplex was in a part of town you will never ever see on TV because the couch:porch ratio is equal.
A lady in a bright turban came by every morning, beer in hand, to talk to us and inspect our progress. She promised to babysit our future children (I should look her up) and had regular yelling fights with a neighbor across the street. They would both yell at each other while walking away in opposite directions.
I grew up in Mexico City, and I remember seeing a black guy once. I remember exactly what he was wearing, and where I saw him, because I never saw a black person before or after. Spending two summers in the south was a whole new experience for me. I realized black people acknowledged other black people, either to be friendly or to have yelling fights from a distance, but they completely ignored us everywhere we went.
Except for our babysitter neighbor, of course. And that one lady that hit on Graeme before we were married. She came by with a friend to look at the duplex one morning, beer in hand, and asked Graeme if he had a girlfriend. Graeme told her he was engaged, and she replied
“Oh, that’s too bad…mmm, I love the white meat. White people are beautiful.”
Her friend rolled her eyes and said, “Don’t listen to her! She crazy!” She flirty, too. Graeme got very red in the face, and pretended to work, but she wasn’t done. Before she left, she told him, “Imma write my number here on the wall, so don’t cover it up with your paint. You give me a call if that sh*t don’t work out.”
Oh, but that sh*t did work out.
You know what didn’t work, though? My stick figure arms installing drywall. We were newlyweds, so I wanted to impress Graeme, but I had never lifted more than five pounds in my entire life, and now I was sanding floors, standing on ladders, and screwing drywall onto the ceiling, all while waving mosquitoes away. A few years later, Graeme apologized for having put me through this, but I don’t regret it completely. It was fun sometimes.
What we lacked in wisdom and muscles, we made up for with love and optimism.
One time we went to Leatha’s, which is a secret restaurant that doesn’t look like much but has the best barbecue in the state, possibly country, possibly world. I hear it’s been on TV a few times, but again, I can’t confirm this seeing as we are Amish, have no TV, give each other (infrequent) haircuts, and even butcher our own chickens accidentally.
The white, run-down building that is Leatha’s quakes to its very foundation as a lady of tremendous dimensions comes to get your order without a notepad. Even if you’re at a table with ten other people, the waitresses don’t write anything down. They memorize everything, say it back to you, and then shake the building a bit more on their way back to the kitchen.
Besides Leatha’s, I also enjoyed the southern dresses, sweet tea, the rain, and that time a jolly fellow walked into McDonald’s with a gun on his belt, real casual-like.
In the afternoons, I enjoyed standing on the front lawn while it was pouring down. The rain was warm; like a huge outdoor shower. Graeme laughed at me from the porch because I was so excited about it. I also loved the old, magnificent houses which were just a street or two over from Couch Avenue, which was a bit shocking to me.
In Mexico, a neighborhood is either really nice, or really ugly, and it takes at least a few minutes to get from one to the other. In Laurel, if you turn your head the right way, you’ll see a Pinterest news feed magnificent palace of a house, but take a step to the right, and my goodness, look at that tower of Corona boxes.
The Corona boxes belonged to a group of Mexican guys who had bi-weekly parties and never invited us. One of the guys would sit in his backyard and call his mom in Mexico. He would talk very loudly for a long time, half in Spanish, half in some kind of dialect. I bet he never mentioned the beers.
I say we spent two summers in Mississippi, but really, it was only a couple of weeks each time. Time just moves very slowly when you’re sweaty.
We finished fixing up the duplex and sold it a few years ago to some unfortunate, optimistic fellow, who was either single or hadn’t been married long. Maybe his wife is an excellent, hefty, vigorous lady with building experience and it’s going great.
Or maybe he regrets it a little, realizes he put too much money into it (but hey a money pit remodeling project is better than a vice), decides to sell it and move on, but still remembers the endeavor fondly, as a youthful, adventurous mistake, and every once in a while, longs for Mississippi, where everything is green and beautiful and the tea has about half a cup of sugar in it.
Leave a Reply
Your email address won't be shared.