I Married a Knucklehead

Our apartment is two story. Since it's smaller than our last apartment, we have more furniture than floorspace.

Last night, I was downstairs writing and listening to music. My husband said he was going upstairs to his office/guest bedroom to work. His office has his computers and all his work stuff, a bunch of guitars and musical equipment, in addition to a queen-size guest bed. He can occupy himself for hours in this room.

At some point in the thirty minutes I was writing, I remember hearing strange noises from upstairs. I stopped to listen. Then I heard him move around and went back to writing.

I should mention that two weeks ago I was looking through a Pottery Barn magazine and saw a trundle bed. I casually mention while flipping pages that if we had a trundle bed in the guest bedroom instead of a Queen bed, it would give him more space. Big mistake. For two weeks he has been talking non-stop about that bed and how he all of sudden needs his floor space. He has talked about putting the bed we have on eBay, or better yet, just out on the street. We've been weighing all of our options. Switching rooms. Rearranging rooms. Buying different furniture for the rooms to give more space, etc.

Another thing I should point out is that one morning this past fall, he asks me if I've seen his brown scarf. I tell him no. I don't even know what scarf he is talking about. Periodically since then, he has alternated between accusing me of stealing the scarf, or wearing the scarf and losing it, or quite possibly I simply threw it away. To his amusement and my annoyance, at least once a week he mentions this stupid, elusive scarf that I have never seen.

Now I hear him run down the stairs. Then silence. I turn around to see him standing behind me. In addition to the T-shirt and jeans he had on earlier, he is now wearing a nappy, ratty, old faded Nike skullcap and a scarf. The cap was probably originally a dark hunter green, but had faded to a slime green. He is standing perfectly still, grinning from ear to ear like the Grinch, right after he did something really malicious in Who-ville.

He was giddy and proud. "I found my brown scarf. Look, I found my scarf, you didn't steal it. I found it in my snowboard bag."

I ignore the fact that the scarf is actually black, "I see that. And you found a beautiful sea-foam hat as well."

Unable to contain his excitement, "Yeah, come upstairs, I want to show you something."

I go up, and furniture is stacked to the ceiling in some sort of eerie poltergeist effect. Not only are the bed frame and mattresses turned on their top sides against the wall, but everything that was previously either under the bed or on it is now stacked on top of the vertical mattresses. Pillows, blankets, a couple of snowboards, and some miscellaneous items that I don't recognize are teetering near the ceiling.

This is my worst nightmare. I'm in my thirties and my home is already starting to look like my grandmother's house. She took decorating tips from Samford and Son with furniture mysteriously stacked against a wall.

"Look at all the space I have now!"

The entire thing could topple at any minute. I point this out.

He smiles as he presses on the outermost portion of the bed and everything wobbles. Nothing falls. "No, it's completely safe."

Just like a kid. Men are like kids. You have to keep an eye on them at all times because you never know what they're capable of getting into. But, like a kid, you have to laugh and love them, because they are so proud of the messes that they have created.