When PIC went to visit his brother in California for a week, I decided the time had come to tackle the first floor, for once and for all. But first, I had to pull up the carpet. And then I had to pull up the staples…
- How hard can it be?
- Pulling staples burns calories, right? My arms are going to look like Michelle Obama’s by the time I finish!
- Maybe I should wear gloves.
- There are like… a LOT of staples here.
- The inventor of staples should be killed. Possibly tortured and killed.
- Okay, this officially sucks.
- I need a massage.
- I need wine.
- There is staple debris in my wine. Maybe if I drink it from a travel coffee mug instead I’ll be able to keep the debris out?
- Drinking wine from a travel coffee mug is GENIUS. I am a genius. Can I patent this idea and hire someone else to pull staples for me?
- Drinking wine from a coffee mug isn’t actually genius. It’s a bit weird. And desperate. And the texture is all wrong.
- Where is my boyfriend? Why isn’t he helping me with this?
- Right… he is out of town. Maybe I can just leave the rest of the staples where they are. They don’t look that bad. I’ll just paint them. We can just wear shoes all of the time. And we’ll move the Kuerig machine upstairs so that we don’t accidentally wander downstairs barefoot in search of coffee…
- But what if PIC and I raise our children here? We can’t make our children wear shoes all the time. Or can we?
- Maybe we can train our children to just walk very carefully up and down the stairs?
- But what if we have stupid children? What if they fall down the stairs and somehow stab their eyeballs on a staple?
- I HAVE to finish this. For the sake of our future children. I will not subject my offspring to an inadequately renovated home.
- We won’t have stupid children, will we?
- Why did I ever by this house? Why oh why OH WHY?
- I need cheesecake.
- I can’t get to the cheesecake because my dining room table is blocking the fridge.
- I am not going to cry about this.
- I am NOT GOING TO CRY ABOUT THIS!!!
- It’s just a fucking floor. It’s just a fucking floor. It’s JUST a fucking floor. And at least I have a floor, right? At least I have roof over my head.
- When is my boyfriend coming HOME?