Celtic Construction Will Save Your Marriage With Ancient Irish Masonry

Running errands yesterday afternoon, I pulled up at a red light behind a contractor’s pickup truck.

Across the back, in bold decals, it advertised:

“Nagging for 6 Months?”
“Cheaper Than Divorce”
“Celtic Construction”
“Call Us Today.”

I’m not quite sure what to make of this.

I don’t know how large the current market is for Morris County druids having marital problems that can only be solved through Celtic home additions, and I guess no one told this guy the Titanic was built in Ireland, but I do think “Cheaper Than Divorce” is an underrated advertising slogan.

It should probably be on every Amazon truck in America.

I’m just not really seeing the marketing angle.

What is the scenario here?

Some guy just wants to watch the game while his old lady has been on his back for six months with ultimatums and the threat of divorce unless he constructs a fully functional druid circle, with correct astronomical alignments and stones sourced from Ireland, by next solstice?

And make sure the landscaper gets that Blarney Stone in by the end of the fifth month.

“Honey, I know things have been difficult lately. I know we haven’t communicated. But before you call the lawyer, come outside.”

“What is that?”

“A fully functional druid circle.”

“You remembered.”

Marriage saved.

As a marketing strategy, I guess it could have been worse.

At least he didn’t put any bad Home Depot puns on the truck:

Where Divorcees Get Divorce Done!

You Can Dump Him. We Can Help!

Or maybe:

In Your Head, In Your Head, Zombie House Flipping.

And maybe he is onto something.

If only Ben Affleck, Kanye, Princess Di, Mrs. Doubtfire and so many others had known about the healing power of Celtic construction.

Forget couples therapy.

You need a hillfort.

Forget date night.

Put a moat around the kitchen.

Nothing rekindles intimacy like your wife excitedly taking her hands away from over her eyes for the big renovation reveal and discovering the Cauldron of Gundestrup where the lazy Susan should be.

Lazy ginger, maybe.

Probably explains why she’s been leaving Celtic burial mounds all around the house with your wedding album photos on top.

The whole thing also makes me curious about what qualifies as an authentic Celtic renovation.

Can I just redo the bathroom?

Or do I have to install a passage tomb with a roof box aligned so the sunrise illuminates the guest towels on the winter solstice?

What happens when you call for an estimate?

“I’m thinking quartz countertops.”

“No.”

“Granite?”

“No.”

“What do you recommend?”

“Megalith.”

And to keep his Celtic theme and prices so low, I’m very curious about the crew.

I imagine the introductions go something like:

“This is my foreman, Dagda. Glyndŵr handles HVAC. And that’s Brennus. He plumbs.”

They probably had Bono working there for a while pro bono, but it didn’t work out.

“Look mate, love the enthusiasm, love the shades, but we’re building a Playa Bowls in Parsippany, not an African orphanage. No one on the crew even has AIDS, four is after three, not catorce, and it’s not profound, the Streets Have No Name because the town inspector hasn’t approved our name yet.”

Eventually they had to swap him out with the dwarf from the Men Without Hats Safety Dance video.

Great worker.

Does excellent work on short notice with Renaissance fairs and came highly recommended by King Moonracer from the Island of Misfit Toys.

And for the rest of his Celtic construction crew, I assume he’s the guy rumored to sit outside Faith and Begora in downtown Denville early every weekday morning picking up defrocked day-laborer Catholic priests still holding onto their vows of poverty.

The less couth in town have taken to blaming them for the recent spate of missing garden gnomes — that’s spelled g as in gnome, n as in the last silent letter in autumn — but I heard they were being deported to an early Roddy Doyle novel soon.

I also checked, and mediation is generally considered a cheaper alternative to divorce than constructing a life-size replica of Newgrange down to the last megalith.

So the truck may be overselling things slightly.

Still, I respect the confidence.

Most contractors promise quality workmanship, fair pricing and maybe a free estimate.

This guy is promising to save your marriage through ancient Irish masonry.

That’s a differentiator.

And apparently there is at least some historical precedent.

Celtic divorce practices were more humane than later Christian laws and allowed women to divorce their husbands for a variety of reasons, including if the husband was obese and unable to have sex, preferred to have sex with men, or otherwise failed in his marital duties.

Which is refreshingly practical.

I’m not sure whether “failed to install a satisfactory druid Amazon Prime cart” was specifically enumerated, but it feels like something the appellate courts could have worked out.

And maybe that’s what this contractor understands that the rest of us don’t.

The National Institutes of Health identifies major causes of divorce as things like money problems, communication issues and infidelity.

But that list may be incomplete.

Nobody ever seems to mention:

Your wife excitedly opening her eyes to see the new kitchen addition and finding the Cauldron of Gundestrup where the lazy Susan should be.

So keep your eye out for this guy, especially around Valentine’s Day.

Flowers die.

Chocolate gets eaten.

But nothing says “I still choose you” like a 5,000-year-old burial mound where the deck used to be.