DIY - a.k.a. - Do It Yourself
It wasn’t long before I had made a lengthy
list of ‘needs’ and ran out to the store. Mainly because I ‘need’ to get the hell outa-da’house before I
go stir crazy.
Sashaying through the refreshing climate
controlled Lowes Home Center. I stop to research all the flooring options. Oh,
what I would give to have a beautiful new living room floor. I’m done with the breeding years and the
peeling dingy floor tiles reflect many litters of puppy-pittle.
I’ve banked a little cash, and I’m sure I can
afford a new floor. Ya know, if I…‘Do It Myself’.
As I lean over to pickup and examine a
heavy box of floor planks, a store employee scampers to my rescue. He’s all
smiles and more than willing to chat. Although, it did flash through my mind
that the gap in my shirt may have given the boy an eye-full of my ample bosom
as I was bending down. Nevertheless, I did
get some assistance. Hell at my age, whatever works.
Quickly, my car is loaded down with the
beautiful light oak flooring purchase. Excitedly, I zip through the rest of my
errands and head home.
Promptly unloading the boxes, I lug them
into the house. I know my new floor is going to look totally awesome.
However, first things first, I have to
pull up the old flooring.
With a hammer, screwdriver, pliers and
garbage can, I get the tedious task started. As I remove the old stinky skanky
flooring, my eyes tear up, clearly making it obvious that the subfloor will
require a good sanding and some powerful odor remover chemicals.
Hours later, crippled from the manual
labor, I take a break. Awkwardly I hike out to get the mail. A neighbor stops
to chat. I wait for Debbie to leave, watching until she trots all the way down
her driveway and is out of sight.
My overzealous bragging about my DIY
project leaves me feeling a bit self-conscious. I definitely do not want her to
witness me hobbling down my walkway or clumsily crawling up the steps, just to
get back in the house.
Seven days later, the living room is
complete. Hey, I even had enough leftover flooring to cover my tiny kitchen.
That is, once I scoot the refrigerator over and slap down the planks. Then I’ll
be totally done.
The feeling of
victory is bubbling up from my very core. (Yes, I read way…too many romance
books.)
However, you know, as I gaze around the
house. My bedroom would look fabulous
with a new floor. I can afford it, you know, if I do it myself. A bead board
ceiling might look splendid. I could afford that too, you know, if I do it
myself. Then maybe some paint to freshen up the wall color….
Hold it right
there!
Instead, I’m going to plop my weary carcass
in bed, balance a bag of snack size MilkyWay’s on my chest, grab a fresh
romance book, and wait until all of these agonizing ‘Do IT Yourself’ urges
pass.
