"Just slap a bunch of spackle on," I had said. "Don't worry about being all prissy and neat. You're just going to sand it in a few hours anyway."
So for six-months-or-however-long we've had a sloppy, thickly and cavalierly applied spackle spot above my Sewing Table, which incidentally I haven't touched in six-months-or-however-long. Actually, I do remember the last time I touched it. It was just before Christmas, when I was making the hobo bags I
And in one fell swoop, I've let you in on three of my secret shames: 1) The spackle spot; 2) My tendency to give up on things that I don't excel at naturally; 3) The fact that it is now June and I still haven't given the girls in my office their Christmas presents. Come to think of it, those are all of my secret shames.
It's the spackle spot that really gets to me, though. The almost-finished Christmas presents I can squirrel away for another six months, until the girls in work forget that I didn't actually give them anything last Christmas; the lack of sticktoitivity I can ignore—at least for another six months, when I revisit the cursed (and that was two syllables, by the way: curse-ed) hobo bags.
But the spackle spot. It gazes at me accusingly every time I sit down to blog. Every time I go to
Erin: [leaving computer room] La ti da, my life is under control and aren't I so clever.
Spackle Spot: [whispers unintelligably]
Erin: [stops, peeks head back in computer room] What was that?
Spackle Spot: Oh, nothing. You know, just wondering.
Erin: [defensively] Wondering what?
Spackle Spot: Ha ha, nothing at all.
Erin: Yeah, that's what I thought, biatch. [goes to leave again, hears Spackle Spot murmuring]
Spackle Spot: Sleep tight, Miss Has It Together. I'll be here in the morning.
All this is to say, I KNOW I haven't posted photos of the bathroom renovation yet. I KNOW, OKAY? It's just that my parents were in town all week last week and so we didn't make time to hang up the new shelving and so all my hair products and equipments are on the floor and my makeup is stacked up in a basket on the back of the toilet and I haven't made the shower curtain yet from the fabric I bought on discount at Hancock and I just can't let you see
So please stop talking amongst yourselves about how I haven't posted the photos yet. You can be certain that my empty promises haunt me.
P.S. Check out my mom's retaliatory comment "in the wee box" (that was for you, Mouthy Irish Woman) to my last post, about how the 'rents are constantly breaking stuff.
Didn't want to say anything about the spackle spot (in case I got my head bitten off!) but every night we (the parents) had a hard time sleeping since the brightness of it bore through our eyeballs.
You, and your Mom, make me laugh! I will always think of this now as the 'wee box' :)
I just LOL at the thought of the Spackle Spot giving you lip. You are too funny.
Where are the photos of the bathroom renovation that you PROMISED US!!!
I DEMAND PHOTOS OF TOILETS, AND I DEMAND THEM NOW.
I am fully prepared to quit this blog in disgust if we don't see them forthwith.
You will be hearing from my lawyers in the morning.
I will remain disappointed until I get bathroom photos. ACTIVELY disappointed.
Another great post. I completely relate. Mine involves a very tall stairwell that was apparently to high to reach the top 3 inches to finish painting. And also an unpainted spot around the light fixture that's in the same stairwell.
I guess this is where the "guy being oblivious" gene comes in handy. There are many things that should be yelling at me around the house, but instead I hear the birds chirping a happy song.
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