Is your man the couch potato type who doesn’t know whether he’s sitting on suede or corduroy? Then count your blessings and move along. I’m talking to the girls, like me, whose fellow is a modern metrosexual male, in touch with his feminine side.
Watch for Early Warning Signs
Pink wall-to-wall carpet in his home is a dead give away! And not Koolaid stains – we’re talking pink-on-purpose. He said the builder called it mauve, but a girl knows pink when she sees it.
In the early years, our life together was blissful. He seemed overly interested when I bought new finger-tip towels, but I chose to think it endearing. The trouble really started when we moved to California and started building a house together.
I actually thought building the new house would be fun, but things went quickly awry. The first clue I’d married a metrosexual monster was the disappearance of any weekend activity beyond visiting the local tile store. But that wasn’t the worst of it! He signed up for a beginning woodworking class and instead of making a birdhouse, he decided to build double doors for the new entryway. Talk about macho man meets Design Star!
Then it was the paint chips. We were torn between a couple of gorgeous taupe-y biscuit colors for the walls. I thought either would do, but he wanted to see all the possible colors available between those two very similar colors. He’d obviously not paid attention in Art 101 when the teacher said there were an infinite number of colors between any two hues.
Call in the Calvary
I’m still married today, because a friend came to visit. I warned her that the first thing he’d want to do was go to the new house and discuss the innumerable swipes of paint he’d slapped on the wall. She assured me that was fine and when she arrived, the first thing she said was, “Show me the wall colors, I want to know which one you like best.” He showed her a few and she asked, “Why do you like these?” Soon they’d picked a color and dubbed it “Love Potion Number Nine,” because it was going to save our marriage.
I’d thought he really wanted my opinion, when all he’d really wanted was to tell me what he wanted and why. Now you know how continue decorating ’til death parts you.