Love It Or List It

Yesterday, I strutted past hubby, clutching a basket of laundry. I was wearing my finest sweatpants, my fluffiest slippers, my flattest hairstyle. No jewelry, no pouty pink lipstick.  The SJG, Domestic Goddess Edition, dialed down to the simplest format currently available. "Are you going to love it, or list it?" I asked, in my best English accent, a la Hilary Farr, host of my once-favorite HGTV obsession until I became obsessed with "Fixer Upper." Hubby got up off the sofa, looked me over, up and down and sideways, considered my market value, stepped into the never-renovated kitchen and debated his options. What else could I do but set the basket of undies and t-shirts and rumpled jeans down on the eco-friendly bamboo flooring, and wait for the big reveal. Was hubby willing to look past my shortcomings? The faulty memory, the tired exterior?  Or was he ready to start anew? It took him a while to answer. "I've decided I'm going to..." Suddenly, he cut to a commercial for Living Spaces, the giant furniture emporium. And then, he was back. Like all reality shows, he replayed the key moment again, for optimum effect.  "I've decided I'm going to... love it!" "Smart choice," I said, and went off to transform our dated, dirty clothes.