We bought new doors for the front of the house. Gorgeous things. The inside door had to be special ordered - this house is so old. Anyway, the doors are finally in and the man stayed home from work to install them.
How wonderful.
So I'm sitting in the back room studying: I have 3 exams, 1 oral presentation and 2 papers due in the next 3 and a half weeks. I'm working really hard on linking social theories to each theorist, getting in a groove, words are flowing, the light bulb is on and everything is clear and making sense, when I hear the words "fucking HELL" being yelled from the living room.
me: (yelling) What's wrong?
him: (yelling) They measured the hinges on the door all wrong.
me: (getting up) Are you sure?
him: Yah. See? Look.
me: You need to shimmy it up on the left. Here I'll help.
*pause*
Well, wouldn't you know, the door fits!! Great door. Been waiting weeks for the thing. Expensive as hell but SO worth it. It’s so beautiful!
I go back to work. It's hazy at first, but the groove starts coming back. I'm in a zone. The ideas race through my head and I'm writing like a crazed person. It's beautiful. It's art. It's so academically out of this world that the professor will be bowing at my feet and tossing honourary doctorate degrees at me.
"Fucking SHIT!!"
me: What's wrong?
him: There's no instructions for the new door handle.
me: You sure?
him: Yeah. Fuck!!!
*I go off to look* Yup. No instructions. So he returns to the store and comes back with instructions. Dandy.
I go back to study. The ideas have stopped flowing. I'm fading. No problem, I will just change topics. I'm writing an essay on how distance education is a viable option to traditional study methods. I open up the Word document, read over what I've done and make a few revisions. It's a strong essay - excellent use of sources - fantastic sentence structure. I'm quite pleased.
"FUCK"
me: What's wrong?
him: Oh, I just drilled a hole in the door and fucked the whole thing up.
*pause*
me: What?
him: Fuck!
*pause*
I get up to look. Yeah, he drilled a hole through the door, but when I put the handle there, it covered it up. Confused, I say, "but it's covered up when you put the handle on."
him: I know but it sticks out.
me: so?
him: I'm going to get the (some sort of saw) and see if I can flush it out.
me: I don't think so! You'll totally ruin the door then!!
*stomping back to my room*
I go back to my essay and leave it to him to figure out.
Stupid door.
Why didn’t we just PAY someone to do this?
I go back to work. I change subjects again. Let's look at the Dimensions of Aging. The oldest members of the baby boomers are starting to retire you know. Guess what this means? By 2031 approximately 25% of the Canadian population will be over 65. I shit you not. And since the national birthrate is down, there are fewer young Canadians to offset the increase in the elderly. Talk about the kinds of effects this will have on our social and political institutions! So I turn to that. It's a fascinating topic.
"FUCKING HELL!"
me: What's wrong?
him: There's no screws in this box.
me: Are you sure?
him: Yah. Fuck.
me: Do you have any?
him: I'm using them but they're the wrong ones.
*pause*
He calls the store. As long as he has his receipt, not problem, they will give him a new installation kit. Fantastic.
He grabs his keys.
Where's the receipt?
Well, apparently when he went to the store the first time to get the instructions, he left the receipt at the store.
I told him to channel the "wrath of Michelle" and get it anyway. He did. I'm so proud.
He's back at it again. We're going on the 7th hour of the New Door Installation period.
I'm blogging. Homework?
Nah, I'm on my second glass of wine now.
*Update with Pictures!!*
Yep. It's called a handyman. He's a handy man to have a phone number for. Good luck with the homework, kid.
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