No news from contractors since last Thursday. Yeah, you’re thinking, “She’s never going to get that frickin’ bathroom done. Blog about something else, would you?” Sorry, I can’t.
Oh, wait, they did call to say that marmoleum was too expensive and homeowners’ insurance won’t cover. (Thank God they’re footing the cost of some of this. Yes, I’m fond of “African Desert” and “Red Copper,” too, how did you guess?) And that we should go for tile, instead. Oddly, my husband wants tile (cold); I prefer marmoleum (warm). What does this say about us? What does this say, that the contractors magically agree with his choice, not mine? Bastards. They’re in cahoots, I know it.
(Note to WM: Figure out prices yourself, why don’t you? Enough of this male bonding bullshit between my spouse and the contractors. All their conversations go like this: “How you doin’?” “How you doin’?” It’s like having Tony Soprano here, times three or four.)
Now comes a call from Himself, AKA Hockey God:
WD: “So, I just talked with the contractors.”
Me: “I can’t hear you!”
WD: “They got the tests back — there’s asbestos under the bathroom floor.”
Me: “Break out the red and the blue!!! Blah blah blah moves on to glory! Courage will lead us on to vic-to-ree-ee-ee!”
Yes, that’s right. I sing my high school fight song when I’m ignoring someone. Or I can always tune it to the “bladdity blah blah blah” channel, as Roxie suggests.
Check out this great Portland winery, Hip Chicks Do Wine.
After that news, I’ll need them. (Hip Chicks Do Whine? Only sometimes, when the news is rilly bad.) Check out Blue Heron French Cheese Company, too. Delicious brie and nice wines…