Tool Man & Wine Girl

They say that a true test of a relationship is how things go when you do one of three things: pack a car, hang pictures, and put up the Christmas lights. Meaning, these are naturally stressful situations and it can be very telling to judge how a person will react. I added two more to the list in the last 3 days.

Sunday, I asked Brett to help me install the new roller shades I got for my condo. It was a fairly straightforward project:

• Take the old ones down and hide them behind the couch, check.
  
  
• Wipe slimy years-old dust off hands, check.
  
  
• Open box of new shades, check (though those copper metal staples tried to give me a run for my money!).
  
  
• Hold new shade up to window to test how far old bracket needs to be moved because life is just not quite easy enough that they would have fit perfectly, check.
  
  
• Measure and mark new spot with a pen hanging upside down while standing on the radiator, check.
  
  
• Charge up the borrowed drill you've had for far too long, check.
  
  
• Hand the drill to the Man on the job, check.
  
  
• Watch him make funny "vroom vroom" noises and Tim Allen-esque faces while holding tools, check.
  
  
• Climb as a pair of 6-footers up onto the radiator and laugh at what the neighbors in the facing building must think, check.
  
  
• Drill into the 2x4 that is already there with screws as old as you are while leaning at an angle, check.
  
  
• Hang new shade into the freshly-moved bracket and admire your work, check.
  
  
• Open beer and admire your work from the couch, and from the kitchen, and from the other side of the room, check.
  

Easy enough? Absolutely. There was no fighting, no crying, no yelling, no disagreeing about tactics or techniques or methods or tools or "just let the man handle it and stay over there" comments, or anything negative at all. I must admit, I was quite shocked and proud at how well we did as a team. We even high-fived. Yes, we did.

And, then, just when the glory of our first project together was starting to fade, and the week was going along nicely, I had to go and test the poor guy again.

We were having a nice glass of red wine at his place last night, while waiting for his sister to arrive. Sitting near the window, I had my glass (3/4 of the way full) on the office desk there. I don't know if I was gesturing, or flailing, or dancing, or what.

All I know is that poor little wine glass had no chance.

I sent it flying. Towards him, towards the computer/keyboard, towards the wall, and towards the upholstered chair and beige carpet. I think it landed in his lap at one point, and then bounced to the floor, hitting the keyboard shelf at some point, hard enough to make the glass shatter.

Wine was everywhere. Red wine.

Dripping off the walls, the monitor, and the window. Pooling in puddles under the keyboard, on the desk and on the carpet. Staining (quickly) his wool dress pants and argyle socks, the chair and everything else in its midst.

I frantically went for the paper towels and used the "wet it and then blot it" method. We soaked the pants (drycleaners everywhere are cringing) and used Shout stain remover like it was going to save our lives.

It appears that everything is going to be ok. Except the upholstered chairs that had probably seen better days anyway. In MY opinion. Don't worry, I bit my tongue from saying that last night. Wouldn't have been tasteful. Anyway, there was no yelling, no "how could you?" and no blaming or name-calling or panic of any kind.

All was quiet, and he was patient with me the whole time, and we just cleaned it up side by side. His sister arrived and we were about to head out to grab a bite, and he makes my favorite comment to date:

"This way, if I am ever thirsty for a nightcap, I'll just go tip the keyboard."

He passed this test with flying colors. Or flying red wine glasses. Cheers!