There’s a very large, rather Chris Farley-esque man who is destroying my house right now. Actually, he’s tearing out the stair treads and putting in new ones. In a few weeks, after the bathroom is remodeled, other, surely swarthy men will stain the steps when they stain the new floors that are going in on Thursday.
Everything is covered in sawdust. Or drywall dust, from the electrician who ripped out the gajillion little can lights in our living room and replaced them with 4 big can lights. Now, the room won’t resemble an airport runway. But for now?
The dust. Ohmygod.
I’m huddled in the basement with 4 dogs, having just finished a marathon of Corporate Behemoth freak-out response. Yes, my team will stay on the job and get these “emergency” items addressed, even when everybody else has gone home. No problem! And since this is a pet project of a senior leader, I totally appreciate that it trumps any other plans I might have had.
My house is filthy and I have a black, black heart. And my husband is crabby, too.
For some reason, our contractor only talks to me. My Guy will speak, and the contractor will look to me to validate what My Guy said. It’s so weird – it’s like reverse sexism. I’m uncomfortable in the new role of speaking for the team, and My Guy is pissed as hell at being, well, the woman.
We’re feeling a bit unsettled. But there are brighter days ahead, right?