I Cheated on My Husband

I’m so f’n busy. We’re so f’n busy. Most recently, I decided that, just before having family stay with us in August, it’d be a super fantastic idea to take on a serious painting/redecorating/summer cleaning (because I was way too lazy in the spring) project. It’s genuinely needed but horribly badly timed.

Do I care? No. Because I’ve got the wild hair up my ass and I’m going to get this shit done.

In order to get everything crossed off my to-do list, I needed help. Like, Man Help. Like, my husband would need to take out the power tools and break shit and have leftover parts that would keep me up at night, wondering if a pipe was going to burst or something would catch on fire due to his disdain for instruction manuals-type of help.

Problem is, the poor guy is working his ass off at his job. (Thank you thank you thank you.) He comes home and loves on me, coos at his daughters, takes his dinner dishes to the sink, then falls asleep on the couch watching soccer. Every. Single. Night.

So. My to-do list was getting desperate. And desperate times . . .

I called a handyman without telling my husband. Secret Handyman came over and gave me an estimate for all the work I wanted done. We made an appointment for him to come today to get started. I went to Lowe’s and bought all the tools. I transferred money from the remaining pennies in my savings account to pay for it myself.

All without telling my husband. Cue the gasps and groans of every married woman reading this.

Should I have been surprised, then, that Chris messaged me today to say he was coming home for lunch? As Secret Handyman banged my pipes and screwed holes in my drywall? (Sexual innuendos totally intended for comic effect. Har har.)

Of course! Of course Chris is coming home for lunch. Because why in the world would I get away with something like this?

Thing is, I’m also babysitting a friend’s daughter this week. And Secret Handyman had gone to Lowe’s to exchange a part. So when Chris got home for lunch, everyone else managed to show up at the house at the same time. It was a chaotic convergence of friend-crying babies-Chris-handyman, such that Chris was totally disoriented and had NO IDEA what was going on. And I had to introduce Chris to Secret Handyman.

Me: “Chris, this is Bill.”

Chris: “Oh, hi Bill.” — strange look at me.

Me: “Bill is here to fix stuff. And hang a light.”

Chris: “Oh. Okay.” — furrowed brow furrowed brow furrowed brow.

Me: “Well, I’m going to take all these kids on a walk! Bye!”

And I took the girls and the friend’s daughter on a walk. While I panicked my way around the block with three babies sweating half to death in the 95-degree oppressive heat and humidity, Chris texts me with exactly this:

“What the shit who the hell is that and wtf is going on????”

Thankfully, it all blew over. Secret Handyman did enough work around the house to get us motivated, I think, to pick up a few DIY projects. Or finish all this goddamned painting and decorating I’ve started. Or maybe clean out a closet.

I think I can get the laundry done, at least. Yes, I think I can do that.