World War III

My husband occasionally mentions retirement.
This is his 30th year as a high school teacher, so he is eligible for the gold watch.
He’s not the type to sit around whittling in a rocking chair should he choose the big “R” - he has a lot of talents and interests, so I know he will find something to do.
I can tell you one thing that will NOT happen. We will not start a business together.
About a month ago, we started painting the interior of the house.
Frankly, I feel like I was tricked into this.
I hate to paint. I don’t like the smell. I don’t like the back-breaking positions you must adopt in order to reach those odd spots. I cannot paint perfectly – I spend way too much time trying to reach perfection only to fall short. Who needs that?
When the Ump declared that we must have freshly painted walls, he said that HE was going to paint the woodwork and we would pay our next door neighbor to do the walls.
I was OK with that. It didn’t happen that way.
The Ump did start painting the woodwork. He spent hours after work painting the windows and baseboards and doors and chair railing and I started to feel like I should help. I really tried to stuff that feeling down, but it kept rearing its ugly head again and again and I gave in.
In all fairness, he did not ask me to help. But he slapped a paint brush in my hand before I finished offering my assistance.
And thus began World War III.
In my opinion the problem rested squarely on the shoulders of the Ump. As a coach, teacher and umpire for the aforementioned 30 years, he has certain mannerisms that serve him well as coach, teacher and umpire.
Unfortunately, I am neither athlete nor student. I am fond of having people use the words “please” and “thank you.” I have a very hard time accepting criticism that seems to be offered before I really get a chance to do my job. I can’t stand being “bossed around.”
Argh!

The Ump: “You don’t need that much paint on your roller.”
Me: “Yes, I do.”
The Ump: “Make sure you roll it on in the same direction.”
Me: “It can’t make a difference – you won’t be able to tell once it dries. AND, if you paid attention, you would see that I only deviated from the path ONCE.”
The Ump: “Well don’t do it again.”
Me: “I have an idea.”
The Ump: “Don’t do anything weird.”
Me: “Like painting the wall outlets?”
The Ump: “I think that looks good.”
Me: “I think it looks dumb.”
The Ump: “Well, I like it.”
Me: “And it’s all about you – right? “
The Ump: “mumble-mumble-mumble.”
Me: “What did you say?”
The Ump: “Nothing. Don’t put so much paint on your roller.”
Me: “If you do not leave me alone, I am going to tell you where I am about to put my roller.”

And so we have marched like Grant and Lee (I was Lee) through the bathroom, laundry room, kitchen and dining room, our feuding and fussing blending with the paint fumes.
On Sunday, we did the front foyer and finally a peace accord was reached.
How, you might ask?
I worked at the top of the stairs and he worked at the bottom.
Proximity has a lot to do with the skirmishes.
The rooms do look beautiful. I will take credit for choosing the colors, but I guess I have to give credit where it is due when it comes to painting. I just don’t have to say it out loud or write it here, do I?
We have the den and the bedroom to do before this project winds down. I anticipate at the end we will be satisfied with our new colors and with the fact that we will have saved a bunch of money doing this job ourselves.
Hopefully, we will both still be living here then.