My husband kicked me out of the garage. It was his last straw. Sawdust from my hobby coated his Harley. My solution was simple, buy a she shed. A week later I was on a website designing my own she shed. Adding the windows, exterior color, and doors I wanted. One more week and a check was written. One more month and there she was, looking glorious in my yard.
Enter the She Shed
A she shed was by far the best way to give me what I needed. A place where I could escape and recharge. A place I could keep as clean or as dirty as I wanted. A place where I made the decisions for everything. Just as a man needs his space and time, a woman needs a she shed. The artist in me needs to work with my hands and this she shed gives me the freedom to do so.
More than a She Shed
A flutter of annoyance happens when I walk into the lumber store with my husband and the associate asks what he needs without a second glance at me. This is where my husband is great, saying, “Not me, her. I’m just here for the heavy lifting.”
“Oh, I didn’t know you did crafts.”
Now, I absolutely detest the word craft when it’s used as anything other than a verb. To me, it feels like it belittles what I do. Having a she shed with my own power tools, my own piles of wood, and my plethora of stains makes me feel legit. It’s my own arena in this testosterone-filled hobby.
“Yep,” I say. “I need five 12x1s at eight feet and ten 6x1s at eight feet as well. I need a pack of 18-gauge brad nails at 1 ½ inches with brown tips. I also need two bundles of 16 1x2s. None of this bowed or cracked crap either. When is your next truck in for more 1x2s?”
My husband just smiles and follows.