A Bedroom Decorating Saga

Admittedly, I was a newbie. But how hard could it be to hang wallpaper? A DVD from the home improvement center explained the whole process step-by-step. What it didn't take into account, was my wife. It was her idea to wallpaper the bedroom in the first place. And it wasn't because the paint was dingy or the furniture looked shabby. It was because Macy's had bought Robinsons May.

It began one fateful morning as we drove past the mall. Ol' Mrs. Eagle Eye spotted a sign that read: "This Store Closing-Liquidation...All Items 40-70% Off." In truth, the sign could have been seen unaided from high orbit. It stretched the entire length of the store, screaming out its message with ten-foot high letters in nearly every color of the spectrum. Sunglasses were necessary to avert a kind of snow-blindness. Lassie began to go all Pavlovian on me, salivating onto passenger-side door sill until I could stand it no longer. Anticipating the question, I told her we could go inside for a quick look around, but that we weren't buying anything.

As soon as we entered the store, I was ordered to wander among the guy stuff and meet up in a half-hour. That was fine with me, averse as I was to shopping with the wife. She could spend days with me in tow, checking every garment in every rack in every size, and decline them all. Then, when I was not with her, she would finally buy one she liked at some other store, on the first pick from the first rack. Actually I despised shopping with her.

A half hour later, I waited at the appointed door, excited about the great prices on Circulon pots and pans...though I seldom cooked. Also I really liked that $17.99 card shuffler. Never mind that I hadn't played poker in eleven years. If I got that shuffler, I'd call the boys and have a game. Anyway, none of that was going to happen. What was going to happen sneaked up and cold-cocked me from behind. It was named Laura Ashley.

My wife arrived several minutes later, existing as she does in a temporal continuum apart from the rest of humanity. I call it "Charlene Time." She had this glassy-eyed look that radiated from her face. It seemed to fill the room with an aura...an aura that was going to cost me money. For I had seen this look before...and it made me tremble.

A sense of impending doom overwhelmed every cell in my body, but I managed to put on my concerned face and ask if anything was the matter. I already knew the answer but she was an old hand at marital jousting. Her reply was an enigmatic "Nothing. Really" and a brilliant deflection. I had lost this round. We were on her turf. I had to get to a new arena...and fast.

I hustled car and wife to the car wash. We stood in the tunnel, staring through the water-spotted window, waiting for the car to emerge from the Poly-Acrylic Foam Bath and De-Ionizing Rinse. She fired the next salvo.

"They had the most beautiful comforter set. And it was 60% off."

"Off what," I quickly regretted asking.

"Off their regular price."

"Yeah yeah. I got that. Bottom line?"

"Only $349.50."

"Only?"

"That's 60% off!"

"It's still an arm, a leg...and a pair of my most treasured family jewels!"

"Well. It doesn't matter. It's a discontinued Laura Ashley pattern anyway...and I wouldn't want it without the matching throws."

"And how much are they?"

"Sixty percent off."

"Sixty percent off how much?"

"A hundred and twenty dollars."

"So you want to spend $48.00 each, for throw pillows?"

I began to hyperventilate. In a cold sweat, I cast my gaze about the tunnel, frantically searching for sanctuary...a bathroom or a fallout shelter...until she came to her senses. But every husband knows instinctively, the greater the need, the smaller the opportunity. My search for salvation was paramount. Therefore it was denied me. There was not a door, nor an alcove...not even a soda machine to which I might feign turning my attention. I was so doomed!

"No. That's the problem. They only have one. I need two but they only have the one and they can't order another...it's a discontinued pattern. But I do so love Laura Ashley."

Suddenly, the clouds of despair hanging above me parted and a ray of hope shone down. This wasn't about getting the comforter. This was a wish list. It was what she would get if she could. The weight of a million bolts of cloth lifted off me. I began to breathe normally. The crisis was over. I was relieved. I was so horribly naive!

The next night, as I left work, my cell phone rang. It was the Mrs. Loony, all excited. The salesgirl-demon-from-Hell-whom-I'd-never-met-but-would-strangle-with-my-bare-hands-if-I-ever-got-the-chance, had called other stores and found a second throw pillow. My heart began to thump like it was digging a tunnel to escape my chest and run off. I could tell that I was going to be working fifty hours a week to support Laura "Discontinued Pattern" freakin' Ashley. I would never get a good night's sleep again. With covers like those on top of me, I'd never be able to relax. I'd have nightmares of being devoured by a ravenous Visa.

Then I made the mistake of glancing at my beloved. She was insane of course. But she was also a loving wife and mother. And she was so excited. I was reminded of our courtship...her excitement as I'd pick her up for a dinner date. That look was on her face. This was something she really wanted. It was the second broadside...and it breached my hull below the waterline. With my heart sinking lower and knowing I would regret my reply no matter what, I said the only thing I could.

"Well, honey. If you really want it...get it."

At least one of us would be happy. And she was thrilled, and the blather commenced. She started going on about how wonderful the bedroom was going to look with the new comforter and sheets and blankets and wallpaper and throw pillows and... I caught up with her at throw pillows.

"Whoa! What? What wallpaper? What sheets and blankets? I thought we're just replacing the comforter!"

"Well honey. It doesn't match anything in the room!"

"What color is it?"

"Blue."

"The room is earth tones and you are buying a blue comforter?"

"Navy."

"What?"

"Navy Blue."

I grasped at the only straw available to me, though I already knew the answer.

"And that won't go with earth tones?"

"Oh please!"

I swear by all that is holy, I could actually see the look of disdain on her face as she spoke to me on the cell phone, so strong was the inflection in her voice. Apparently I knew nothing of interior design. I should just open my checkbook and keep my trap shut.

I was met at the door with a can of seltzer and a quarter pounder with cheese and told to eat in the car. They would only hold the pillows and comforter until 8 p.m.

We arrived back at the store and I stared longingly at the card shuffler while she went to the dry goods department and emptied our life savings.

This brings me back to the DVD. I watched it several times. With each viewing I became more convinced that this was doable. Problem was, each time I asked my wife to watch with me, the phone would ring...or the kids would distract her and she would disappear into some other part of the house, not to return until the credits rolled. I was sure she was evading the DVD so that she could plead ignorance later and avoid the papering. I hit on a plan.

It was our weekly "Date night." I'd gotten take-out Chinese food and a movie for us to relax and watch together. But unbeknown to my wife, I had switched the movie for the wallpapering DVD. She would be forced to watch it...the time already set aside for a movie.
The KungPao chicken and fried rice consumed, we settled in for the movie. When the title came on, my little ruse was uncovered. I expected a negative reaction. But she did seemed perfectly happy to sit through the entire DVD and even asked questions at the end that told me she had been paying attention. I was impressed. What I didn't know, was that she had been using the chapter breaks to plan her revenge.

The next day, she dragged me wallpaper shopping. "How bad could that be?" I thought. I figured we'd look through a few books, pick a few possibilities, take home some samples, measure the room and go back to order our selection.

It wasn't until we arrived at the decorating center, that I learned to my horror, the full extent of my punishment. For daring to drag her into the wallpapering part of the wallpapering, I had obligated myself to browse all the sample books with my tormentor. And there were more than a few books. There were, it seemed, millions or at least thousands, or hundreds…certainly hundreds. And my wife was determined that we go through every one.

I plea-bargained not looking through children's wallpaper books. She countered that she might want to paper the kids' rooms. My admonishing glance that told her "Keep your eye the prize or lose this round." She capitulated. That eliminated about 16 books. Some capitulation!

She began...naturally...with the Laura Ashley books. I randomly selected a book of floral patterns, since I knew she liked them and opened it to a shade of Navy Blue that was perfect. Bingo! Got it on the first try. I excitedly showed it to her. She kind of screwed up her face and finally said: "That's very nice dear, but not really what I had in mind." It was clear my parole had been denied. And a shiv had been plunged into my heart by my willing cellmate.

Finally, as my stubble had grown into a full iron jaw, she made her selections. Twisting the shiv, one of those selections was the "Bingo!" I'd picked on the first try all those decades earlier. We arrived home, and while I mowed the forest that had grown in our front yard while we were gone, Charlene went inside to compare the wallpaper with the comforter. When I came in to shower, she was measuring the room.

"How'd we do?"

"I like the one you chose."

And my punishment was complete. Though she'd admired the pattern all along, she'd now hammered home that it was her choice not mine. To be fair, I think that if she had opened the book first, she would've chosen it herself. Still, her need to exact revenge for movie night would have trumped any desire to buy and be done with it. Besides, she did like to shop. I could, however, take some small solace in the fact that we had selected a pattern that was NOT Laura Ashley! But irony threads its way through everything in my life. And in this instance, the pattern we chose...the pattern we agreed upon...was more expensive than Laura Ashley...a lot more expensive.

The next day, we cashed in our children's college funds, took a second on the house and went to order the paper. We presented our measurements to the store clerk and were told that we would have to buy even more paper than the outrageous amount that we already figured we had to buy. Why? Because this supplier only sells this pattern as double rolls, packed three to a sleeve. Could we buy single rolls? There was of course, no such thing from this supplier. When I inquired why they didn't just call them rolls, the clerk and my wife looked at each other as if to agree that I was an idiot. I opened my checkbook and grumbling, shut my trap.

We also had to buy tools, gallons of special wall primer, and an equal amount of "Liner paper" that cost as much as some wallpapers. It looked a lot like the stuff in which you mailed packages. I knew where to get tons of it, cheap. But the clerk said the store couldn't guarantee the performance of the wallpaper unless we used their special "Brown Kraft" liner. Then there was the glue. Oh...and don't forget the long table. Boards and sawhorses? Not for us. We had to have the finest collapsible pasting table that money could buy. Never mind that we would never use it again, and that it would soon be caked with wheat paste. Before long, the car was loaded to the roof with stuff for wallpapering and we didn't even have the wallpaper yet. I wondered aloud if it would've been cheaper to hire a wallpaper hanger. My wife replied something about how much fun it would be for us. Like I said, she's insane.

In a few days, the wallpaper arrived and we set aside the whole of Saturday to do the bedroom. I got up early Saturday, as is my custom and took great pleasure in interrupting my wife's favorite Saturday custom...sleeping in. I dragged her out of bed and we had coffee. Then, while she washed down the walls of the room, I emptied it of furniture. The phone rang. I never saw her again.

I began my solo career as a wallpaper hanger full of energy. I sized the walls...that's wallpaperer lingo for prepping them. Then I carefully laid out a chalk snap-line for the first sheet of "Brown Kraft" liner paper. I might add that I checked. It was the same brand I could get.

Still no sign of the wife. I looked around. Her car was still in the driveway. Her purse was still in the kitchen. We had no secret passages. She'd simply vanished. Then I heard a sound from the pipes in the attic. She was watering! I ran downstairs and demanded through the den window that she drop whatever she was doing and get back inside to help. She said she'd be right in. So having made my point, I returned to the bedroom. Did I mention my creeping exhaustion and backache?

I laid out the first sheet of wallpaper, and following the DVD's instructions to the letter, pasted and folded the paper. This would be a snap. I set the ladder, carried the paper up and working from the top down, slowly unfolded the strip of paper and pressed it into place against the wall. It went on diagonally. I wrestled with it for a while and finally got it where it was supposed to be. I took the brush thingy and smoothed out all the bumps. It was a beautiful sight. Only about fifty more to go. Where is she? I found her taking a shower in the guest bathroom.

"What are you showering for?"

"I feel all yucky."

"Yucky? You're going to be hanging wallpaper. You're going to be covered in wheat paste!"

"I'll be right there."

I returned to the bedroom, laid out another strip of paper and matched the pattern. Off in the distance, I heard the telltale squeak of the shower faucet shutting off. She'd be here soon. In a flash, I had pasted and folded the second strip. I bent over to stretch my back and in the distance, I heard the phone ring.

"Let the answering machine get it!"

Too late, it never rang a second time. When I finished the second strip, which went up much more easily than the first one, I was feeling pretty confident. Only 48 more to go. I went to find the mythical Charlene. She had finished the phone call and was drying her hair.

"Would you stop getting ready and get in the bedroom?"

"I'll be right there!"

I had finished eleven more strips when she appeared at the door to the bedroom, snacking on an apple wedge.

"Do you want a sandwich?"

"No. I want you to help me."

"Well. I just thought you might be hungry."

"No dear. I'm dying. Get in here and paste something."

"Okay."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Okay. Open that roll and unroll about nine feet of it. Then measure the pattern match and make sure you cut off enough."

"I don't understand."

"You watched the DVD."

"Once! You watched it like six times."

"Okay," I sighed in defeat. "I'll have a ham and cheese on rye and find me some Ben-Gay."

"Right away dear."

She skipped off happily to make lunch. I was mired in quicksand with no overhanging branches. Survival meant move slowly...pace myself. No sweat. I hurt too much to move fast.
She came back three strips later with a couple of sandwiches and chips. I had stopped relating to time as a measure of hours, minutes and seconds, but as a measure of strips of wallpaper. I was nineteen strips away from finishing...or dying, whichever came first. My back felt as though someone had removed every other vertebra with a corkscrew. We broke to eat,sitting on the floor and chatting. She bubbled over with the excitement about how beautiful the room would look. I remarked that all those who came back to the house from my funeral would truly admire the room and the beautiful comforter on which they would drop their coats.

When we finished lunch, rather than running off again, she dove right in, pasting, folding, cutting, and smoothing. We were a team now and the teamwork paid off. A mere 19 strips later, the room was complete. And it was a sight to behold. So were we. You could barely see her hair for the paste that was in it. My shirt would have to be chiseled off me. But the room was done.
Another hour of back-breaking labor, putting all the tools and extra paper away...we had two full double rolls left over...and all that remained was to put back the furniture and make up the bed with the new linens and comforter.

Oh yeah, the furniture. We have this iron bed. It weighs about six tons. I still had welts on my hands from moving it out of the bedroom. But with my wife's help, we wrestled it right back into the same dents in the carpet I’d dragged it from that morning. Also, we have nearly an entire department store of clothing in the dresser. I'd actually pulled a muscle moving it out in the morning. When I went to bring it back in, my wife was removing the drawers.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"It'll be lighter this way."

"But that's more trips."

"Survivable ones."

I hated to admit it, but she was right. The dresser slid right into the room and in five minutes, we had all the drawers back in. At this point, I was shooed away to take my shower. When I came out, before me was a vision of loveliness. It was the bed...made up with the new comforter and those damned throws and all set up against the backdrop of the new wallpaper. It was quite beautiful. It was also nearly ten o'clock at night. We'd been at if for sixteen hours. The shower had helped, but my back still felt a lot like a Clydesdale had ridden me hard. My wife came into the room in her robe, all showered and I could tell by her expression that she was thinking we should break-in the new room. I agreed. We climbed into bed. Gently kissed each other. Turned out the lights...and immediately fell fast asleep.

My fears about never sleeping again were groundless. That night I was a hibernating bear. We awoke in the morning, went down to the kitchen for coffee, and with mugs in hand, returned to the room to survey our handiwork in the light of day.

My wife turned to me and said: "See. Now wasn't it worth all the time and effort and expense?"

What could I say? My back still hurt like I’d been stretched on a medieval rack. But I looked over at my wife and saw the expression of sheer joy on her face. I could only give her the one answer. I said "No."