I Married a Spoilsport

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My husband is a sweet, smart, hardworking, funny, good-looking guy, I think we can all agree. We won't hold his lack of enthusiasm for dance against him, because he's such a doggoned good husband, right? Well, I'm sorry to tell you that he is not perfect.

My husband is a spoilsport.

I know! Who would have thought that this Mary Poppins of a man (practically perfect in every way) could be such a Dudley Downer when it comes to his wife and all things artful?

Take the above photo, for example. How adorable is that? It's from this webpage, and I found it on a Pinterest page I stumbled across called "bowling ball garden art." (Also, do we live in a great moment in history, when both Pinterest and that topic exist?)

This weekend was the annual garage sale put on by the youth of our church. The sale is on Saturday, and Sunday morning everything that's left over is free for the carting away. People, there were TWO BOWLING BALLS left over on Sunday! No one had bought them! They would be FREE!

As I shared my enthusiasm for the find with Husband, I could practically see thoughts running across his forehead like share prices running across a Wall Street ticker except that this ticker kept track of my unfinished projects already filling up the basement. There goes the single bed headboard that was going to become a bench...and the rocking chair that's half stripped of its orange paint ...and the cute little church pew that has been completely stripped and propped up on blocks waiting for finish for at least five years...and the two trunks that I keep forgetting about because they were stripped then moved into the coal bin to make room for more projects...and add to those the unfinished projects in the rest of the house--the heaps of yarn...and the stacks of t-shirts ready to be made into quilts...

Or maybe it was my own mind those projects were running through, because Husband didn't say a word.

"Oh, FINE," I grumbled. "I'll leave them for someone else."

But I assure you of one thing--if I had brought those bowling balls home, and had gone against my usual pattern and actually gotten them converted into ladybugs, and then had again gone against character and actually moved them from the basement to a flowerbed, they would have been adorable.

He's such a spoilsport. It's a good thing I don't have any flowerbeds.