Here's one such example of the sexting that now happens between Pete and I:
Pete's response: Totally down to get a drink. And I am curious about what you mean. A lot of that concrete is needed.
I'm sure he's right, but what are we talking about here? Needed, as in the house will crumble and destroy our neighbors' adjoining row houses? Or, needed because Pete can't handle the mental anguish of another project right now when we have a living room that's tarped over like Dexter's killing spot and a kitchen that's being torn apart in one week? (Did I not mention the kitchen in awhile on the blog? There's a reason, people. And it's a big one. To be continued.)
Regardless of the "need" to keep the concrete, I saw the following image and now I'm obsessed with climbing rose bushes.
Pete's message back to me: We're talking about the concrete right along the house front? If so I'm sorry but that has to stay.
After that text exchange I came home from the shop, dragged Pete to a business meeting with me at Park Tavern (to have that Guinness I really wanted) and dropped the conversation about the roses.
But I did not forget. Oh no, I did not. I know he's right about the concrete. Like that patch of stone, Pete is the stability in our relationship. I would run around like a caveman if it wasn't for him. That said, though ... This weekend we are spending Sunday finishing off a few half-completed projects. We will inevitably go to a hardware store. And I will purchase climbing roses and I will tie them up and I will teach those suckers to climb.
You see, home ownership is really glamorous, guys. And who says the magic dies after commitment and construction? Not us. Now, excuse me, but I have to go research how to get all S&M on some roses ...