A couple nights ago, Thomas's mother called to ask some questions about a desk that we built for his office. His sister recently moved into a new home and is looking for a reasonably priced do-it-yourself two-seater desk idea. Thomas says to me, "Honey, my decorating ideas are being used across the country in other people's homes!"
"Your mother absolutely loves your crazy ideas. In fact, it's slightly nauseating."
Looking around the living room, Thomas points to the shelves on the wall. "I decided these should be offset, and you love them."
"You did, and I do," I reluctantly said nodding my head.
He continues, "And your purse wall, you have to admit you love that!"
"Yes."
"The mirror in the hallway, my idea. The red wall in the living room, my idea. The shelves in the dining room, my idea. Cooktop placement, me. Bed placement, me. Your sewing table! The Banksy prints! MY IDEA! ALL MY IDEA!"
To be honest, I've known Thomas is better than me at spacial reasoning for some time. He can look at a picture in the store and say where it will fit and with how much clearance around it and be right, every time. But when he went around the house listing his interior design achievements it made me feel slightly inadequate and nauseated. OK, it made me feel VERY inadequate and VERY nauseated knowing that his mother is right in her esteem for her son's ideas. I mean I'm the "designer" around here. Plus most of my friends' husbands aren't remotely interested in what color the sofa is and here I sit surrounded by a home COMPLETELY designed by my masters-degree-in-engineering husband.
To make myself feel better I ate a popsicle. No, I decided that as a graphic designer I really put all my focus on designing on a flat surface and 3D spaces aren't my forte (at all). Give me a piece of paper and I'll design the hell out of it. But give my computer-loving, video-game-playing, car-talking, tool-wielding husband a house and he can design the hell out of ALL OF IT.