Behind almost every picture in my house is at least one spare hole where I didn’t hang it. I tend to “eyeball” where I want things. Those that don’t have that hidden flaw were probably hung by the ex-husband. This was an interesting symptom of the demise of our marriage: he a measure twice, cut once kind of guy and me, an impulsive imperfectionist. He would measure the wall and divide it in half to find center. Then he’s measure the picture and divide it in half and then take into account the distance from the top of the frame to the hanging wire after measuring the wall from floor to ceiling and dividing in half. That seemed like a whole lot of unnecessary math to me. Who would ever see the hole that was too high or too low? The people who helped us move out?

But I know those kind of things drive certain people crazy. One customer on a bathroom remodel job wanted us to patch a hole behind a mirror that had been silently mocking her for decades. She wanted extra staples removed from studs that were going to be sealed inside a wall. I bet she measured before hanging.

Well today I finished a home spackling job that only caused one injury, much more minor than the black eye in the shed. (By the way, I’ve used the biker bar story several times to everyone’s delight. If you missed that great story, you’ll find it on the May 10th blog where you see 8 comments listed. It’s worth the read.)

I was prying a cheap plastic towel rack off a wall with a screwdriver. The rack had been stuck to the wall with foam adhesive by the previous owner at least 12 years ago and then painted over. When my prying efforts pressing away from me weren’t getting the results I wanted, I tried from the other direction. It worked great – except the force of my prying jolted the screwdriver forward and right into my chest (just over my left benign breast.) There wasn’t much blood and the bruise is only about the size of a quarter. I’d stick with safer tasks of vacuuming and dusting, but those bore me.

Anyhow, all this is to say that my spackling and repainting isn’t pristine, but it will do fine. I’m hanging a lovely earring rack there that was handmade for me by my friend Anne. So the flaws will be mostly hidden.

So which kind of hanger and spackler are you: the measuring mathematician and the Michelangelo of plaster, or an imperfectionist like me?