I remember it as if it were yesterday. My wife and I crawled into bed, she rolled over and, in a breathy voice, said those little words that get the blood pumping in every red-blooded American male.

“Let’s remodel the kitchen.”

If you’ve never been through any kind of home remodel before, let me tell you it’s an experience rivaled only by the Battle of Guadalcanal. Six months of living with noise, dust, and the words, “I don’t agree” is the definition of every divorce lawyer’s wet dream.

You can look it up in the dictionary.

When I pointed this out to my wife she called that kind of thinking pessimistic. Also, because only men have wet dreams she threw in “sexist” for good measure.

“I’m an optimist,” she said. I know for a fact that it will be fun. Like we’re newlyweds again.“

“You must have heard that from a divorce lawyer,” I said.

“No. From HGTV.”

HGTV is a cable channel that features dozens of shows in which sexy, sculpted interior decorators and sexy, muscle-bound contractors completely renovate some family’s home.

They begin by tearing out everything but the main sewer pipe and end with a mansion that’s larger on the inside than it is on the outside—all while the owners enjoy a leisurely breakfast.

“I suppose you also think Kevin Spacey is president,” I said, subtly pointing out that not everything on television is as real as it seems.

“You’re right,” she said, moving closer to me and whispering in my ear. “So let’s do it on television.”

Just so there’s no confusion, by “it” she meant remodel the kitchen.

“How are you going to feel when a bunch of total strangers explain to America that our house lacks a kitchen, having instead a storage room for appliances?”

“It’s just show business,” she said.

“Or when they say the view from our bedroom could be improved if it overlooked a toxic waste dump? Or that they’ve seen better curb appeal at a state penitentiary?”

“You’re being too sensitive,” she said. It was the first time she called me sensitive since I took her to see the Vagina Monologues.

For some reason it didn’t seem the same.

Putting your house in the running for an HGTV show is, like ordering a case of Pepto-Bismol, one more thing you can do on the internet. Just don’t expect overnight delivery.

Three weeks later HGTV turned us down. They said we didn’t have the kind of house they were looking for.

I thought about letting my eyes swell up with tears, but once you’ve passed being sensitive and have gone on to too sensitive there’s really no going back.

“Let’s give it a few years. Maybe build an unpermitted addition or grow some mold behind the washing machine to make the house more appealing,” I said.

A week later I was out of bed and fully dressed at 6:45AM, because my wife thought the sight of me in polka dot briefs might give the workers tearing out the kitchen floor the wrong idea.

Four weeks later we were at odds over the color of the walls.

Eight weeks later neither one of us would budge on our choices of sink faucets.

Four months in we can’t reach our divorce lawyers, each of whom we have on speed dial. It seems they’re negotiating the tile pattern for our backsplash.

Either that or they’re in no hurry to call us until we promise the settlement hearing will be on truTV.