Think before you speak, Diva.

Last night I really hurt Mr. Diva's feelings. I usually am not capable of doing this - not that I deliberately try often or anything, but I'm just saying that he's usually not paying enough attention to me to know if I'd hurt them or not. But I hurt him so bad that he slept on the couch last night.

Yeah.

I felt horrible after I said it, too. But that fragile male ego was already dented.

The toyroom used to be our bedroom. We had satellite run out here when it was our bedroom so we could watch porn, except $9.99 for not even very good porn was too steep for us. Not when we can go to Dirty Don's and rent one for $6 that's really good. Anyway, the satellite box is still out here because in my mind we'd mount the TV to the wall and the kids could watch cartoons out here occasionally. Well, we moved the toyroom out here two days after Christmas. It's nearly Labor Day. In that length of time the TV has sat in the window seat with the satellite box balanced precariously on top. It's certainly not safe and it's also a wonder that it hasn't been knocked off by now. So yesterday morning, Mr. Diva's day off, I reminded him that Cute Baby would be establishing his little crawling, drooling territory here in two days and the TV was still not mounted to the wall. I also said that if he didn't have the time or want-to to make a mount, then I'd just go to Wal*Mart and buy an arm if he'd put it up for me. He grumbled something incoherent at me and went on.

Now, when we first talked of this above-ground TV months ago, I told him exactly what I wanted - a shelf that is suspended by chains/ropes/licorice whips whatever and hung at a downward angle so the kids could watch it from the floor. Of course, it needs a lip on it to keep the TV from sliding right off and of course, we'd have to brace it and all that.

Well, Mr. Diva came in from work and went directly to the playhouse and I heard the saw fire up and I assumed he was putting panelling up. No, in a moment of pure kindness he was building me a TV shelf. I guess he wanted to surprise me. He rarely does stuff like that and I know that he was doing it out of love and probably because he thought he'd get some nookie out of it as well, but I prefer to think that he was just being nice. Then what did I do but hurt his feelings.

He hollered for me to come out to the toyroom and was standing in the corner holding up a shelf. He turned around and asked me, "How high do you want this?" I had to have looked stunned, shocked and I'm pretty sure my mouth opened and closed a few times like an out of water fish. He asked again. I finally got my wits about me and walked over there to inspectigate further what he was holding up. He had made a shelf that would actually fit into the corner and had a rounded front. A rather nice-looking shelf, I have to admit. But he was just going to screw it to the wall. No bracing, no chains/ropes/licorice whips, nothing. I said, "Uhh...hon, I'm not sure that's going to work." Well, immediately he jumped on the defensive and said, "What do you MEAN it won't work? It'll work just fine! It's a perfect fit!" Nothing I would've said at this point would've made the situation better because already I had doubted his manly carpentry skillz and his vast knowledge of shelving. I then explained that it needed bracing because, even though it's not a ginormous TV, you can't just go stickin' a TV on a shelf like that without some extra bracing and insurance that it will not land on the floor in front of the children in the middle of Lizzie McGuire or Rugrats, thus making them fear cartoons forever on. He ignored my explanation and asked again, "So how high do you want it?" I said, "I don't want it up there at all." Ooh bad choice of words. He stomped out of the house and threw the shelf onto the wood pile and stormed off to the playhouse. I of course, realized instantly that I had hurt him. He had worked really hard on that shelf and it was hot and muggy out there and he did it for me, not only because I had asked, but because he wanted to. Agh.

I thought for a minute, gathered up some words that I hoped would help to mend his psyche and then decided that if those words didn't work I'd use the words that always work - blow job. Then I followed him outside and in a soft, soothing voice tried to explain that I thought it was a nifty shelf and he had certainly done a good job, but I just didn't feel like it was stable enough for a TV and blah blah blah, yada yada yada. He wouldn't stop running the skill saw long enough to actually listen to me. ThenI got mad. And then I decided that the words "blow" and "job" would not be a part of the conversation. Grr. I apologized for hurting his feelings, but he wouldn't accept it and just told me that I was too picky and that he was just trying to be nice. So I walked off and left him alone to sulk. He stayed outside until I left for the casino and even then he only came in because the kids were in there and I reminded him that DHS has a problem with unattended children.

When I got home from the casino at midnight, he was on the couch. I knew he was awake, but he was making a real concerted effort to feign sleep, so I just went to bed without even trying to talk to him. I've been married to him long enough to know when to just leave him alone.

I have worked extra hard on the house today and have dinner planned. Yeah, there will actually be cooking in the Diva house tonight. Amazing, I know. The words "blow" and "job" still probably won't enter into any conversation, but I can always hold them in reserve if I get desperate.