Robb and I had an ongoing debate.
I believed one neither needed to be an engineer nor a carpenter to hang pictures on her wall.
He disagreed. Every hanging project involved complex tools, levels, lasers, brackets, and nails in excess.
I assured him that I had spent a good many years of my life pounding nails into the wall without any consequence, with only the fruit of charming decorating.
He asserted that a studfinder was essential, and then he always guided the studfinder to in fact find him, The Stud.
Last night, I decided to hang some paintings I bought at a street market. Frankly, I delighted in the willy-nilly nonsense of my picture hanging algorithm. I eyeball it, I pound a nail, and it works.
Lovely. Simply lovely.
And then I heard Tucker’s voice from downstairs.
“Mommy, is that you hammering? Please don’t pound nails into the wall. I really hope that’s not what you’re doing.”
Oh, for crying out loud.