When we were packing up to go home for the summer back in college, we parted ways to go to our respective rooms. A few hours later, when I was done, I went to check on him and found him shooting Nerf darts at his television set, with no noticeable progress. Diagnosis: Faffing.
When we were getting ready to go to Chicago this last time, it was 10 o'clock the night before we left, and we hadn't packed. I left Noah doing dishes in the kitchen to go gather my things, and when I came back I found him sorting through a giant stack of junk mail that had been sitting on our stereo for over a week while watching a White Sox game. This was his idea of taking care of the pressing task of packing. Diagnosis: Faffing.
faffing around (v.) 1. to dither; 2. to annoy the crap out of your wife by dithering; 3. to require endless amounts of time to complete a relatively straightforward task, thus annoying the crap out of your wifeAs our responsibilities have become greater, so too has the level of Noah's faffing around. He has become a champion faffer.
Noah: I guess I'd better call Steve about getting that drain put in the backyard.
Erin: Yep, I'd say it's time. Since we're now cultivating swamp grass.
Noah: I'll have him come out and show me the plan for how he would do it, and give me a solid estimate.
Erin: Isn't that what he did last time you called him? That time that he came out here and showed you how he would do it and also gave you a solid estimate?
Noah: A gentleman never rushes into things.
I' d like for him to build a set of shelves to go around the bay window in our bedroom. We've been discussing this for months. I've drawn many drawings, explicating how this thing should go down. But, owing to my — how shall I say this? — mathematical deficiencies, I depend on him to come up with a blueprint that won't result in a Seussian mess of a wonktastic built in.
We're finally at the stage where Noah is ready to draw up a plan. When I reviewed his "plan," this is what I found:
That's a detailed drawing of our bay window — complete with Roman shades, blinds (and their turning rods), and even the outlet beneath the middle window. And those nebulous, indistinct lines on either side? Those are the shelves. Notice the BOOKS ON THEM.
At this rate, we'll have measurements done by Christmas. But, luckily, this time around he has successfully located and labeled the ceiling.