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Jim is my friend, and because he’s my friend I didn’t have the heart to tell him he was doomed.

It started when he mentioned that his wife stopped by the paint store.  Now, any man who has been married more than 10 years can tell you that is a warning sign just as grave as coughing up blood.  It means your wife is ready to strip your finances down to skeletal remains through a process call Home Remodeling.

Home Remodeling involves a complex system of checks and balances in which so many checks are written that the bank account no longer balances. Because no man would go along with bankruptcy willingly, the hook involves a “quick trip” to the paint store to buy “a gallon or two” of paint.  It seems simple, and Jim even seemed proud of his wife.

“She’s a real go-getter! She headed to the paint store this morning and said she should have the whole living room spruced up by the time I get home.”

I clapped him gently on the back and said nothing. The next day bore out my fears.

“I guess I thought she was going to use the same color. Huh.  Oh well, as long as she’s happy.” Hmm. Happy. 

How many men spend their lives looking for ways to keep their wives happy? The next week I saw Jim sitting at his desk looking at carpet squares and fabric samples with a befuddled look on his face. “Do you think Bohemian Beige looks better than Tyrolean Taupe?” 

I bent closer to look.  “You mean does this tannish one look better than this slightly darker tannish one?”  I shrugged.

He shrugged back.  “I’m supposed to check these over and give my preference.” 
I asked the important question. “Which one’s cheaper?” He cringed slightly.

I clapped him gently on the back.  "As long as she’s happy."
What followed then was a long tragic progression through the Stages of Remodeling:

• Carpet to match the Walls,
• Window coverings to match the walls,
• Furniture to match the window coverings,
• Accessories to match the Furniture,
• Fear,
• Anger,
• Denial,
• Acceptance.

Months later, Jim and I were drinking coffee in the break room in companionable silence.  Then Ken (another co-worker) walked in with a phony breeziness that wasn’t fooling anyone. “I was cleaning out my wife’s car, when I found this.” It was a color strip from a paint store.

Jim got the coffee and I pulled out a chair.  We both clapped him gently on the shoulder and sat with him.  What could we say?

As long as they’re happy.

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