I recently designed/envisaged/dreamed up some integrated, pull-out shelving for my wardrobe on which my shoes could live out a happy [and neat] existence. I wanted flat shelves that could be pulled right out on rollers or something so that I could see everything, including those poor shoes that seem damned to spend all eternity stuck right at the back of the wardrobe and never get to see the light of day. When I told Himself about my vision, he had whipped out a tape measure and begun to size up the available space before you could say "So I was going to ask Dad if he would make them for me." Having only briefly perused Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus before casting it briskly aside and declaring that it was a load of absolute sh*te, I then made the fatal error of Questioning His Abilities. Oh, the indignance that followed! Did I not know that Himself had done woodwork? [It was later revealed that "doing woodwork" in this instance consisted of a year long flirtation with same in his first year of secondary school. And since Himself no longer gets to tick the "18-25" box on forms, that was a bloody while ago.] I said oh really, I didn't know that, etc etc and made some vaguely conciliatory noises.
Several lifetimes in B&Q and a sh*tload of timber, lats, full extension brackets and sawdust later, I now have a very impressive bespoke† shoe storage solution without a Dad in sight.
Needless to say, now that Himself has proven to be rather a handy chap [and not just in a grope-y way] he is ab-sol-ute-ly f*cked. I have alcoves that are just crying out for some floating shelving across their width, an understairs cubby hole seeking a loving door or similar partition, and plans for a headboard-less platform bed. Oh, it'll be a long time before he gets to settle down in front of Questions & Answers in peace again. Mwwwwaaaaah hah hah hah haaaah...
† The favourite word of Grand Designs' Kevin McCloud, don't cha know [and mine du jour.]
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