A few days ago, I wrote about how deeply I miss the kind of home Edó created for us — the kind only a woman can create.

The next morning, more memories connected to it came back.

Because we moved many times, both in Hungary and abroad, we usually rented empty apartments. Thanks to our dog, furnished places were rarely an option. That meant the very first mission was always the same: home textiles, household items, endless accessories.

How many rooms, how many windows, how many bathrooms, how big the kitchen, the dining room, and so on. Like most men, numbers immediately started running through my head.

Some men would think:
“Great opportunity to upgrade the car.”
Others would count fishing rods.
I was thinking about finally buying the guitar I had wanted for years.

But deep down I already knew the truth:

the home textiles would win.

Not a single cent would survive.

We entered one of those giant famous home furnishing stores.

“At least we can do everything in one place,” I thought naively.

Of course not.

These things are never one-stop operations.

Edó walked in carrying notes, measurements, little hand-drawn floor plans.

“First, we check the curtains,” she said.

And off we went.

“But Edó… wasn’t there already a curtain there? I think there was. Or maybe not?”

Long hours. Extreme precision. Quiet male suffering on my part.

“And this is only the curtain section…”

Curtain rods too? Why? Aren’t there already rods? Oh… those are ugly. I see.

I stopped looking at my watch and surrendered to fate.

“Where are we going now? You want to do that today too?”

“Csabi, stop whining. Of course today. We’re finishing everything.”

Bathroom department.

“Push the cart.”

Bath mats by color and texture.

“This one?”

“No… maybe the previous one.”

“That one is fine, Edó.”

“Good. Then we’ll take the previous one. Your taste doesn’t count.”

At this point it was no longer about home textiles. It had evolved into “decorative accessories” or something equally terrifying.

“Csabi, this is the perfect time to replace my ironing board. I wonder where they keep the covers.”

“This rug will be good for the hallway, this one for the living room… and we’ll never find decorative pillows this cheap again.”

“Only the kitchen left.”

If we had started there, I might have actually enjoyed it.

Now?

Half a shopping cart full of plates, glasses, coasters, strainers, containers, things no man has ever actively searched for in his life.

Edó checked her list again.

“Good thing I looked. We still haven’t bought anything for the lighting. And while we’re here, we should get a few things for the walls too.”

“Then we’ll look at bedding. I need a new pillow too. Relax, Csabi, we’re almost done.”

“On the way home we’ll stop for cleaning supplies, detergent, fabric softener, ironing water… but that’s nothing.”

By then we were already far beyond the price of the guitar I had dreamed about for years.

I bought a pack of drill bits for emotional balance.

“But Edó… are you absolutely sure there weren’t already curtains there?”

She always installed them herself. My maximum contribution was holding the curtain rod and asking stupid questions.

Now all we have is a blue spray bottle with cleaning liquid in it.

It’s been like that for a while.

I haven’t even opened my old guitar case in more than a year.

And honestly…

what would I do with my dream guitar sitting untouched in its case if Edó had never been able to buy all those things that made life feel warm, soft, lived-in?

What would any of it mean?