So Far, A Playhouse

One time, I made a cardboard playhouse for my daughter from the box my mom’s new washing machine came in. It was a cute little thing I painted white with a gray door (it was supposed to be brown, but I was clearly a master at mixing paint and ended up with 5-day-old-doggie-doodoo gray), red window shutters, a red and orange “tile” roof, and this really snazzy round window I’d circled with a mosaic border. I taped it together, painted it, hung frilly curtains in it, and furnished it with cushions and a stepping stool. My daughter loved it. I thought I was the housebuilding shizz.

In reality, of course, the meanest tool I can wield is a glue gun. If I’m feeling a little edgier, crafting-wise, maybe a staple gun. If I need a hook on the wall, I get my husband and tell him to please drill a hole for me. Most of the time, there’s a dispute over my decorating choices and since the labor is his, it’s like he feels he’s entitled to a say. I pretend he is, but, nah, he really isn’t. It’s exhausting having to defend my need for a cuckoo clock before it can finally get installed, but, thankfully, I don’t need his drilling services anymore since I’ve found my solution in Command hooks.

Those stick on hooks are great! If I pray just right, the humidity doesn’t mess with them at all and I can shabby (not-so) chic the heck out of our house and my husband and I can just argue over it after the fact.

As great as Command hooks are, I do wish I could brandish power tools like I mean it (what does that even mean?). I want to be the type of person who is so self-sufficient I can build a real house and not just some flimsy shelter when I finally get chosen to be a Survivor castaway. That would probably put a target on my back because those folks on Survivor are vicious, but I’ll go down in reality TV history as the girl who built a freaking house on Survivor.

There’s a woman I watch on YouTube who is kind of my hero. She’s gorgeous and very feminine, but she builds her own houses. The first video of her that I saw was a feature on her treehouse in Hawaii. She’d made it herself, and before that, she’d built her own tiny home in Idaho. These days, she’s creating a hobbit village made up of underground homes in Washington.

I wish I had her skills. If I did, I bet I can apply for a job at a groundworks company and nobody would laugh. Nobody would go, “Oh you can teach Spanish and French, write articles, and make a cardboard playhouse. You’re exactly what we need,” with cutting sarcasm.

I suppose I can learn. I’ll start small. Maybe I’ll build a wooden box and then graduate from there to something bigger and bigger until I can finally build a house. Good luck to me finding the time to take that up. I can’t even build a cardboard anything these days. It’s nice to dream though.

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