There are some things in life that I do not do. 

Not because I can’t but because, however objectively useful they might be, they feel like a total waste of time. Like cleaning the car, or ironing, or D.I.Y.  The first two of these are easy to get around.  The car is filthy, and I don’t own anything that requires ironing.  But the D.I.Y. causes endless trouble.

I would happily pay someone to come and do it but Fireman is very good at D.I.Y.  He is thorough and completes it to a high quality.  And by “thorough” I mean he takes months to finish anything, and by “a high quality” I mean he takes months to finish anything.

This causes something of a dilemma since he is the kind of man who thinks that if he can do something, we shouldn’t pay someone to come in and do it for us. And so every time a job becomes urgent, we deteriorate into the same argument. 

He will say it’s a waste of money to get someone in to do something he can do himself, and that in any event he can almost always do it better.  I am obliged to acknowledge the theoretical truth in this, before pointing out that if he never in fact gets around to doing it himself then the practical result is the same as living with someone who cannot do it at all.  Loud protests follow, along with indignant pointing out of things he has completed (albeit several years earlier, there being no more recent examples at which to point, which of course I point out).

In Fireman’s defence, he is a busy man.  He works, and when he isn’t working he’s painting or getting ready for an exhibition or attempting to lure nudes into his shed.  I’d made the mistake of thinking that absenting him from household chores would be a welcome reduction of his burden.  But herein lies one of those fundamental differences between the sexes.

To me, D.I.Y. is a chore that someone needs to do, and so long as it isn’t me, I really don’t care.  But to Fireman, D.I.Y. is a macho job.  Much like standing over the barbeque or insisting on driving everywhere, being able to fix problems around the house is part of Fireman’s basic masculinity.

Earlier incarnations of this type of male have clubbed females over the head and dragged them back to the cave.  These days, they lure them into a well-appointed cave, and detain them with an impressive array of drill bits.  Seen in this light, it’s obvious that the introduction of an alternative tool belt is a deal-breaker.  Suggesting that I pay Dave to erect shelving is tantamount to an infidelity from which our relationship may never recover.

So it is that I have finally learned one of the many lessons of married life: regardless of whether or not he has time for chores, it is never acceptable to threaten your man with another man.

All of which musings lead me no closer to getting these bloody shelves built.