I Talk About My Husband A Lot
So given that Adrian and I sleep in an arctic attic bedroom, every year he has to put up that saran-wrap/hair dryer business on the windows so we don’t freeze in our sleep. Even with this gimmickry, we are under four quilts, I should note.
ANYWAY. Several months ago I bought these roman shades for our two arctic attic bedroom windows. Because:
a) I love roman shades
b) houses in our neighborhood are built quite close together so
c) I could throw a rock into my neighbor’s upstairs and hit them on the head if
d) I could see them, because they have shades over their windows because they are not animals.
However, Adrian has to haul out his physics degree constantly (whenever faced with some Man Job he doesn’t wanna do) and in the 6 years we’ve lived in the house, has continually lectured me on the science of optics and how nobody could see us all naked and up to no good and to relax already.
Since asking me to understand the properties of light is a tall order, I just waited for the roman shades to go on sale. Then I bought them and they sat around for months because I am legally prohibited from operating power tools. One day, Adrian said, “Honey, if I ever put those shades up, you’ll know I’ve done something very terrible that I feel guilty about.”
Yesterday when he put up the cling-wrap on the arctic attic windows, he also put the roman shades up.
My guess is that the GSX-R frame with no title or the home hadron collider will be delivered by Fedex any minute now.