I've received emails from people asking where I have been.
Simply put: in hiding.
We had the plasterer in on Thursday and Friday.
And I almost lost what little of my mind I have left.
And what had pushed me to the brink to madness?
Let me preface this by saying that our plasterer is the nicest guy in the whole, wide world.
His work is beautiful and his prices are so reasonable that one wonders how he makes a living. And he shows up on time and is done when he says he'll finish. Really, he is a good person.
But he talks incessantly. One topic blurs into another with a "...and another thing...and its funny that I said that because...you know...did I ever tell you..."
And the older he gets, the more he talks. And its the same stories, over and over.
So I got through Thursday (first coat) but by 6PM on Friday (second coat) I had a RAGING headache. And I was ready to spill secrets of national importance, of which I know none, but I would have made things up if I had to. Even the dogs were exhausted from the non-stop "who's a good dog? WHO IS A GOOD DOG?" Kevin crapped in the dining room, I think, to get demanding questions over with.
Unable to face day three of this chatty version of Chinese water torture, I looked through my organizational newsletters and saw where the local genealogical society had its monthly meeting back home. Anything to get away. So I left the husband with the plasterer for the sanding. During the blue haired lady meeting I kept getting texts messages to the effect of "Jeez, can he stop yabbering for five minutes?"
And the answer is no, he can't. And this is why yesterday morning I was sitting in a meeting with 30 senior citizens listening to a thrilling presentation on the War of 1812. To get away.
When I returned home the husband had a splitting headache. But when we got the final bill, given the amount of work he did, it was worth it.
So for self preservation, I have been in hiding.
Big doings ahead for the week. Will have to report what I can report. Can't spill all of the beans just yet. But a BIG week it is.
This is not unlike what living with my mother is like. Only she's my mother.
ReplyDeleteIn my family, we call those "Aunt Virginia Stories." One topic just kind of works into another, kind of like Rose from The Golden Girls too. I do the same thing.
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