It has been said that men's brains are like waffles, neatly compartmentalizing information into separate and distinct sections, while women's brains are like spaghetti, criss-crossing lines of thought meandering hither and yon with extensive overlap. Nice theory. Shall we put it to the test?
This week I began the search for a computer desk or table to put in my little office at home, but since it is a little office, there were shape and size requirements that couldn't really be fiddled with. And money was an issue, too. My price range was "cheap." That's okay. I wasn't in any rush to find said furniture piece. I would come across it when I came across it. However, as with most things, I sent a prayer heavenward asking the Lord to lead me down the right path.
Well, He did indeed lead me. He blessed me with a computer desk of the right shape and size and price, even thought it wasn't the solid oak beauty that would dwell in my dream office. That's okay, too. I live in the land of second-hand, eclectic furnishings where nothing matches and nothing resembles even remotely the pulled-together arrangements found on the pages of Country Living magazine. Don't get me wrong ~ my house is pulled together. I pull pieces from a variety of flea markets, thrift shops, and yard sales and arrange them together in a comfy, cozy manner reminiscent of our first apartment together as newlyweds. Thirty-five years later I'm still perfecting the art.
I couldn't wait to share the news with my husband of how the Lord provided, right down to the specifics (well, except for the solid oak beauty business, but that's not His fault ~ I didn't ask for it). I realized halfway through my tale that I was losing his attention when his eyes glazed over and his head started tilting. I needed to make a drastic move before the drooling and snoring kicked in, so I dared to ask my husband if I was taking too long, and you'll never guess what he said. You'll never guess! Well, yeah, you probably can guess.
It got me to thinking about the theory that men's brains are like waffles and women's brains are like spaghetti and that I had just bought my man a ticket for the spaghetti train and what a painful ride that must have been for him. I hurriedly finished the story for him before he lapsed into a coma and slid out of the chair. He was grateful. And he was excited. I could tell by the twinkle in his slowly closing eyes.
We pick up the computer desk tonight. And even though it's made out of composite pressed sawdust, I'm grateful and excited, too.
Now, if my husband were to tell this story, it would go something like this: "I needed a desk. I looked for a desk. I found a desk."
Where's the fun in that?