See, it's just a male thing
Or, rather, about driving away from the store. Really, about stopping and getting out of my car again. Actually, the point was that I looked through a few of the sample buildings on the store's parking lot.
You know, I explained to her, you can get a good, wooden, roomy workshop without it costing too much.
I chose my words with some care because she thinks we have a workshop already, though it's nothing but a small, crowded, non-ventilated, short, metal storage building.
There's no room to actually work inside, even if it didn't already contain stacks of stuff. The walls are no good for hanging tools on. The only shelves we have are rickety standalones that don't allow room for organizing things.
Complementing the storage building, though not in any too complimentary fashion, is the laundry room, where a few items are kept on shelves I built. It does have a door I can walk through without hitting my head, unlike the storage room. Though useful for keeping some small things, there is no room to work, nor can I generate sawdust where we do laundry.
OK, she talks a tough game, but I can tell that she really understands neither of those is a workshop. But then there's the justification factor. Therein lies the real challenge.
"What do we need a workshop for?" she asked, trying to not sound like Elmer Fudd hunting for that wascally wabbit.
First of all, I read the predictable litany. It would be good to have everything under one roof instead of three; yes, that means I could get those tools out from under the buffet. It would be nice to have a place where I could work on something without traipsing back and forth rounding up supplies and equipment, and where I could work out of the weather and even at night.
She listened, apparently waiting for me to scurry from the underbrush so she could get an open shot, but I outwitted her.
I played the male card.
"I guess, bottom line, is that it's a guy thing."
Z-i-n-n-n-n-g! That threw her off-balance. Not being a guy, she could not fully enter the discussion because ... all together now ... she wouldn't understand.
While she tried to stop her head from spinning, the wascally wabbit zipped back into the hole.
It's not that I was cheating; it's true. Having a workshop is something a guy usually needs. For some, like me, it comes later in life. It has only been in recent years that I have started piddling with things around the house.
I'm reminded of something James Michener, the great historically based novelist, wrote in his magnificent story of the Lone Star State, "Texas," a book I recommend to any Texan.
His story was in the 19th century, I believe, when he wrote that most Texans would sooner or later develop a desire to raise cattle. I can relate to that, though my wandering spirit has kept me from getting that tied down ... yet.
It's the same with a workshop, I submit. Sooner or later, most guys develop the desire to have their own little castle, where they decide whether anything is out of place or needs cleaning. It's where we can set a drink without worrying about creating a ring, where we can simply aim at the trash can and pick up our missed shots whenever we want, where we can be ourselves ... men. (Feel free to add a Tim Allen grunt here.)
The seed was planted, but I knew better than to press for a decision. That would have involved my head out of the rabbit's hole and giving her a clear shot.