Tuesday, June 16

I can hear you

About six months ago, Noah patched a hole in one of the walls in our guest room/office. It may have been longer than six months ago. It was so long ago that I don't remember the nature of the hole, how the hole came to be, it's size or dimensions or anything.

"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 gave to the girls in my office gave up on because I kept breaking needles when finishing seams.

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 pay a bill order a pizza online, or do some research troll Craigslist for diamonds in the rough, that spackle spot gives me the stink eye. And as I leave the room, I can hear it talking about me behind my back.

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 me the bathroom like this!

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.


Anonymous said...

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.

Jen said...

You, and your Mom, make me laugh! I will always think of this now as the 'wee box' :)

Kate Riley said...

I just LOL at the thought of the Spackle Spot giving you lip. You are too funny.

Dan said...

Where are the photos of the bathroom renovation that you PROMISED US!!!


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.

Anonymous said...

I will remain disappointed until I get bathroom photos. ACTIVELY disappointed.

mrs. fuzz said...

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.

Slamdunk said...

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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