World Peace is worth a thousand bucks.

I finished dry-walling the basement last night and today I called Mr. Bowles ("That's Bowles as in more than one bowl, not more than one bowel" ...oops. My mistake Mr. one organ past the intestines). He came over to give me a bid on finishing the mud, tape and texture (aka hiding all of my handy work) and it's more than I wanted to pay but I gave him the go ahead anyway after a quick analysis of the situation;

Yah I could finish the basement. I can mud. I can tape. I can probably even figure out how to texture. But it will take me forever and I will do an imperfect job that I'll regret so long as we own this house. I'll point out all of the imperfections to everyone who comes over and lies to my face telling me, "It looks great Dave". I'll bemoan the whole deal and curse myself into a rotten mood and I'll take it out on my wife. She'd kick me out. I'd have to live in our pop-tent trailer somewhere in Oklahoma. Max and Whatever-we're-going-to-call-her would grow up without a dad. They'd do drugs. Max wouldn't go on a mission and Whatever-we're-going-to-call-her would be pregnant before she graduates high school. And for what? A thousand bucks?! FORGET IT! We're hiring this out because the inverse is so sweet;

See, I won't have to do it. It will look good. Professional even. I'll kick back on the couch and catch a game. I'll go skiing. Ride my bike. I'll wake up with a smile on my face. My wife will adore my cheerful demeanor and my warm embrace. She won't be able to keep her hands off me. Our children will idolize me, mimic my every move. They will become successful in the home and successful in the workplace. They'll open orphanages. Bring world peace. The world will be a better place for everyone.

Now THAT is worth a thousand bucks.