Because admitting you have a problem is the first step: Pat and I suffer from a stage-3 case of Might-As-Well Syndrome (MAWS). We’re sharing our story to spare you the heartbreak of home improvement.
Symptoms of MAWS include repeated, illogical refrains of “as long as we’re _____, we might as well _____.” The resulting complications from this debilitating affliction include inability to set boundaries with hardware store employees, inflated credit card debt, paint-stained clothing, compulsive list-making, marital discord and weekend-long blackout periods not brought on by excessive drinking.
If you find yourself bleary-eyed on a Monday morning, wondering where your weekend went while crossing “touch-up baseboard paint” off a list written on the back of an envelope, you might as well ask your doctor about Might-As-Well Syndrome.
Like the prickle of rash that foreshadows full-blown shingles, you might recognize MAWS in its nascent form: As long as you’re up, could you get me another beer? Or perhaps you’ve succumbed to the traveling contagion: As long as we’re in Europe, we might as well go to Prague, and Paris, and Berlin, and Rome, and Florence, and Athens… and spend the majority of our two weeks of vacation experiencing the interiors of trains, planes and automobiles rather than soaking up the culture and history of just one interesting place.
The idea behind MAWS is to reduce workload by applying momentum to a new and different task, but you will soon learn that sustained momentum is only more work. As long as I’m enjoying my inertia, I might as well forgo momentum and keep my ass parked comfortably on the couch with my cold beer.
Here’s what momentum looks like – printed out from Patrick’s master list, version 3.2, and updated as we cross off items in an inexorable march toward “progress.”
It started out – 19 days ago – with granite countertops. The laminate in our kitchen had actually started coming up in some areas, and the seam near the coffee pot had begun to split. We had a little money set aside, and Pat had test-driven the Home Depot estimator before contacting a contractor friend for a quote.
For the cost to do just the kitchen at Home Depot, we could do the kitchen and both bathroom countertops with the contractor… oh, and as long as they’re installing the kitchen countertop, they might as well extend it out so we can have a bar, too.
And since we now have a counter-height bar in our kitchen, we might as well saw the legs off the kitchen-table bar stools so they will fit under it, instead of buying new barstools… which meant Pat now needed to buy a miter box and saw.
And since we’re getting a granite counter and new sinks for the master bath, we might as well get rid of that ugly brass vanity light and put a decorative frame around the bare mirror so we can match the new faucets that match the new oil-rubbed bronze hardware… and maybe we can get a quote from the contractor on replacing the rattletrap shower and ripping out the plastic bathtub and installing a new tile backsplash and oh wait, that won’t fit in the budget.
But the vanity light definitely needs to go. It’s brass. It came with the house (built 13 years ago – in the 90s, eesh!) It looks like something out of a movie about a Broadway musical… and three of the light bulbs have burned out (though I could easily replace them with a trip to the supermarket and a $10 bill). And as long as we’re getting rid of that hideous vanity light in the bathroom, we might as well pull down the dated can-lights in the kitchen and install a sleek, new monorail system that matches the sleek new stainless appliances that we replaced last year when the microwave and refrigerator and dishwasher all went out in the same week.
And as long as we’re getting new overhead lights in the kitchen, we might as well install the under-cabinet lights we’ve been talking about for the past six years – oh, and we could make pendant lights out of wine bottles like we saw in that restaurant, which means Pat needs to get a new grinder and blade for his Dremel tool.
It also means Stacy has a new justification for drinking heavily.
Back to that hideous vanity bar-light: What do you mean it wasn’t centered? And the new six-fixture light won’t cover the hole? Fortunately, Pat is handy with a drywall saw… and it’s good thing we decided to paint the master bath because it’ll look as good as new once he’s done patching that hole, and priming the drywall, and painting the patch.
And as long as we’re painting the master bath, we might as well go ahead and knock out the whole bedroom. It’s only two more gallons of Valspar Timber Dust matte finish- and with the new primer-paint mixture, it’ll cover up that blue glaze in just one coat.
Yeah, about that blue glaze: When we first moved to the desert (in August 1999), our eyes had trouble adjusting to a sun-blasted horizon of bleak brown, bleached tan, burned ocher and dead grass. So we decided to faux finish the bedroom with a pretty blue that sort-of looked like watercolors and sort-of looked like the sky (if you live in a bad Van Gogh painting). Yeah, it was easy on the eyes… for about five years.
But now our master bedroom is coated in the soothing tones of Timber Dust, which looks an awful lot like the bleak, brown, dirt-hued colors we’d been trying to avoid.
I don’t pretend to be handy. That’s Pat’s domain: He installed all of the faucets (no leaks!) after the contractor finished with the granite and sinks. He wired the lights. He used the miter saw. He wields a mean roll of painter’s tape. I basically have a strong back, I don’t normally fall off ladders, and I can parry a roller-brush with minimal whining… for about three hours as long as you give me clear instructions on what you want me to do. I can’t intuit what task is coming next – in fact, if home improvement has taught me anything, it’s that I now understand how men feel when asked, “Does this make me look fat?”
There’s no right answer. They can’t read minds.
Which is why it’s best for me never to ask, “Am I doing this right?” because it opens an hour-long dissertation on how to tape or why we try to pick up the end of the roller at the completion of each stroke and why eggshell is better than satin, but honestly matte is the best, and my eyes are glazing over… and “You’re not paying attention!”
No, I’m not… that’s why there’s paint on the ceiling.
In fact, you can normally tell how I progress around a room with the paint can based on how many times the ceiling and trim are nicked. (I move counterclockwise). And as long as I’m wearing out every three hours and painting the ceiling as well as the walls, we might as well touch up the ceiling (not that I care – who looks at a ceiling?), and as long as we’re touching up the ceiling, Pat might as well just spend a Saturday morning on his back on the floor re-painting the floorboards… and as long as he’s in the bedroom doing that, he might as well move onto the hallway floorboards since they no longer match the bedroom, and as long as he’s in the hallway, I might as well get the Mr. Clean Magic Eraser on that weird swath of brown that seems to track the exact shoulder-height of our dogs.
Do they scratch themselves on our hallway walls when we’re not around?
Why yes, yes they do. We learned that after running through two Mr. Clean Magic Erasers.
And yes, the Mr. Clean Magic Eraser really works.
Now where was I? Countertops. Check. Barstools. Check. Vanity light. Check. Master bath paint. Check. Master bedroom paint. Check. (Might as well do the water closet while we’re at it). (Check). Kitchen lights. Check. Under cabinet lights. Check.
We’ve abandoned the fancy wine-bottle pendants, at least for now (though I have not abandoned drinking heavily). Still, we have not cancelled the “Record Series” command on the DVR for “all of the above” on HGTV and DIY Network… because as long as those under-cabinet lights are working, we might as well put the easy-close hinges on all the cabinets… and as long as we’re…
Well, that’s why they call it a syndrome and not an acute illness. It can’t be cured – and it can barely be managed. The first step is admitting you have a problem. The second step is turning off HGTV. The third step is telling your spouse to put a sock in it next time she starts a sentence with “As long as we’re…”
As long as we’re droning on about home improvement, we might as well finish up now.