Entry #659876, added on 07-19-09 @ 12:01 pm EDT
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| Living With My New Tub-o-toilet | Entry #659876 |
Title: Living With My New Tub-o-toilet
Date: July 19, 2009, Sunday
Thought: Oh, we’ve got new floors, which promise to be gorgeous. But, we are somewhat shell-shocked over the experience.
Jog: I realize now a sixty-year old man can truly be naïve. That’s me, Mr. Naïve. I thought all I had to do was go into the tile store, give them loads of money, wait for them to come out to my house, and the next morning we wake up in a house with new flooring ready to be photographed by Southern Living. Well, stop sniggering at me! I now know that’s a stupid idea. It’s been a week since the tile-guys invaded our home like the Nazi army running over Poland. The aftermath even looks a little like it. Today, on the seventh day of the new flooring, our home is a disaster. Oh, we’ve got new floors, which promise to be gorgeous. But, we are somewhat shell-shocked over the experience.
As I peer down from the second floor landing, I see litter all over the floor. The drapes are still pinned up and have collected a fine coating of dust. We will first try to vacuum them, but eventually will take them down and have them cleaned professionally—another bundle of money. We can sweep up all the trash and refuge, and once the tile is grouted we will nave a beautiful floor. But right now even that is somewhat doubtful. You can see in the photo below, even Max is trying to escape up the stairs. That black blur in the bottom left-hand corner is him charging the stairs.
The tile-guys have shot themselves in the foot, so to speak. In their haste to get the tile laid, they disassembled the bathrooms. It had to be done. They turned the master bath toilet into a new novel tub-o-toilet, where you can take a dump and a bath at the same time—lovely thought, isn’t it? However, they have dragged their feet putting the things back together. As a result, we’ve had tile-guys jumping up and down on one foot, holding their crotch, and whining, “I gotta pee!” Well, put one of my bathrooms back together and you can use the dang thing. But, no! They would rather traipse up and down the stairs, into our area, to use the bathroom. And they would do that, if it wasn’t for the fact that Max is waiting at on the top floor—hungry. Nope, they just hop up and down, holding it and blurting at him in Spanish.
Linda is fit to be tied. As a matter of fact, I might have to tie her up to keep her from sicking Max on the whole lot of them. All her furniture is covered in dust. Instead of moving the furniture out of the room, they have played musical chairs with them, shuffling them from one side of the room to the other as they prepped, tiled, or grouted that area. We just figured it would be easier to move the furniture one time—out of the way completely—than play musical shuffle with it for the last six days. Silly, us—what do we know? Anyway, as I peek over the upstairs rail to the family room below, we see havoc. We can only hope that this time next week it will be suitable for that Southern Living photo.
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