Usually, couples do things together to stay together. Seasoned couples know there are certain things you should not do together so you will stay together.

Painting walls is one of them for us. Years ago, my husband and I ambitiously painted all the bedrooms in our home. Painting is something he loves to do. Painting is something I like to get done. Apparently that difference is reflected in the outcome of our respective efforts, at least in his eyes, which, by the way, belong to a perfectionist.

Periodically, he left the room he was painting to come visit me in the room I was painting. His visits followed a pattern. “So, how’s it going?” he’d say. I’d reply, “Fine,” or “Pretty good,” or “I’ll be glad when we get this done.” Then a long silence. Then, with all the diplomacy he possessed, he’d point out a spot I missed. I’d embrace the gentle correction by silently slapping paint on the flaw. He’d retreat. But he couldn’t resist returning. And I knew it was because he wanted to see the wall — not me.

By his fourth visit, my toes curled when he walked into my room. This, I knew, was not a good sign. So I addressed it. “Tell you what,” I said, “If you come back in here again, the rest of the painting will look exactly the way you want it to because you’ll be doing it by yourself.” He did not return. And I was not offended when he later “touched up” the rooms I painted.

Since then, I haven’t painted anything. And we’re both OK with that. True, the painting isn’t getting done nearly as fast these days. But what does get done is perfect.

His perfectionism clashes up against my “get ‘er done” attitude in other arenas. Hanging pictures on walls, for example. The tools I collect to hang a picture are a hammer and a nail. His method requires a hammer, a nail, a measuring tape, a stud finder, a pencil and a level.

My method is quick. I hold the picture up to the wall, eyeball it, push the nail into the wall where the picture frame’s hanging bracket is, use my hammer to pound it in and hang the picture. Done.

His method involves measuring the entire wall including the distance between the intended picture and all things around it. He uses the pencil to mark first a horizontal line and then, with many more measurements, a vertical line. The perfect nail placement exists at the intersection of those two lines. He uses the level to complete the job. Meanwhile, I’ve gone grocery shopping or cleaned a bathroom or washed my hair. But his finally hung picture is perfectly placed every single time.

It’s strange to think our marriage could be in trouble with one wall grouping.

Speaking of measuring, my toes curl when he asks me to help him measure lumber. We recently installed a set of 14 stairs. (You’d think we’d learn.) It took us two weekends and a year’s worth of patience. He measures to sixteenths of an inch. For stairs. I write down each complicated measurement or we forget it in the short time between measuring and cutting. When he makes the mistake of letting me measure, he will get a measurement that’s either in inches or half inches — that’s all. That’s when he remembers he shouldn’t let me do the measuring.

On the stair project, he did all the measuring, and they turned out perfect. Seriously. They’re so precisely aligned you want to stop and admire them before actually walking on them.

There’s no doubt opposites can be a seedbed for trouble in a relationship. But no two people are alike — what a boring marriage that would be. The answer is to learn how to recognize each other’s strengths, find the balance and use the differences.

Our kids have figured this out. If they want something done well, they go to their dad.

If they want something done, they come to me.

D. Louise Brown lives in Layton. She writes a biweekly column for the Standard-Examiner.

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