A hermit

by Katie on May 25, 2012

A month or so ago, I mentioned we had some construction projects going on. One of those projects was installing huge, double walk-in closets (read:  his and hers) in our oversized “cave” den area.

In that process, we felt it was important for one of those closets to have locking functionality. This is important to note.

So, several days after our little closet project was complete, I was chomping at the bit to get moved into them. “My” side was already storing things like our sports equipment and Christmas decorations, and Brandon had made a slight dent in relocating the hunting gear to “his” side. His “dent” wasn’t exactly satisfactory in my book. This is where you should strongly consider the factor that I had been waiting for this moment for nearly four years. Four years of not being able to open the door to one of our spare bedrooms, lest you be overtaken by a mountain hunting packs and stabbed with a needle and syringe meant for taking cattle blood. In three words, it was Out. Of. Control. I mean that in the most endearing way possible, of course.

Anyway, this was a big moment for me. I did not understand why my husband was dragging his feet. One evening after supper, I, just trying to help my poor husband of course, made the following offer:  “Hey, if you want, we could go work on moving your stuff to the closet…”

I was not prepared for what followed. In short, he did not want my help. In long, this is what he said:

“No, I don’t want. And I don’t want you anywhere near my closet. It’s the only space I have left in this house and I want it all to myself. You’re already kicking me out of the one room that was mine. In fact, I’ve thought about how nice it is that my closet has a lock. I may just take a chair in there. And sit. By myself. In my closet.”

Well, okay, then…

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