D.U.I. -- Decorating Under the Influence

We are in the process of converting my daughter's bedroom from heartwarming (read: infantile) to chest-pain-inducing (read: tween). This, of course, meant that the rubber duck theme of the bathroom next door also had to go.

Thing 1 and I headed to the local Dead, Daft and Diddley to select a new shower curtain, which we did along with a plastic ice-tray mold one can use to make teeth-chattering shot glasses.

This latter purchase is a necessity because redecorating in our house usually requires serious post-project imbibing to relieve the pain of smashed fingers, sore backs and box cutter slashes. It also creates a dreamy soft focus that masks my inability to get corners to square properly and helps My Love feel more in sync with the inevitably wobbly IKEA furniture we end up piecing together.

I had just put the shot-glasses-to-be in the freezer and settled down to catch up on what TiVo had wrought when My Love said I would need to go back to the store. The hooks I had purchased to hang the new shower curtain were not big enough.

"You just might want to get a smaller rod," she said.

"Amazing," I said. "You have managed to utter a sentence that in the history of Western civilization has probably never before been said by a wife to her husband."

She looked at me askance, paused, then left the room.

Mentally, though, she took the keys to my minivan off the counter and whipped them straight into my nether lands.