More accurately, the old master bathroom is getting a makeover. A tub that was never used and a dinky-dimensioned shower stall have been removed. In their place, a much larger shower area (far too big to be called a stall), complete with his and her shower heads and a built in bench, has been taking shape for the past several weeks.
The old floor tile in the master bath (can you still call it that if there is no bath tub?) has been removed -- amid clouds of dust the likes of which have not been seen since Steinbeck.
The Colonel doesn't know which is worse -- dealing with the dust or following the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda around countless showrooms trying to find just the right tile design for the new floor.
Both make the Colonel's eyes water.
Frankly, the Colonel doesn't care what the tile looks like. In fact, when he heads for the shower all the Colonel cares about is satisfactory water pressure and a dry towel. As long as he doesn't have to trudge from a tent to a outdoor field expedient "shower" consisting of a suspended holey-bottom bucket filled by a lance corporal who searched high and low to find the coldest water in camp..., well, you get the picture.
Or maybe you don't. Maybe you are one of the unlucky ones who have never been so grimey for so long so far removed from civilization that a bucket full of cold water dumped over your head by a lance corporal bent on revenge for the speed and duration of the latest forced march (aka: hike, for you unlucky ones) is the nearest thing to nirvana a grimey grunt can imagine.
Anyway, the Colonel's house has been a dusty hell-hole for the past month and he's about had enough of it. So, imagine the Colonel's chagrin to hear the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda announce that the current renovation heretofore confined to the master bathroom is but the first of many renovative phases.
"Stop your whining, knucklehead," the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda responded to the Colonel's dust-detesting grumblings. "You better get used to the mess -- now that we have the contractor's attention, I'm not letting him go until we get all the other things fixed in this house."
"What other things?"
"Well, the master bedroom is going to look pretty shabby compared to the new bathroom, so I'm thinking a new paint job and new carpet is in order."
"Is that all? Whew! The Colonel was worried you were talking about doing a lot more than just that."
"Wasn't through, knucklehead. And quit referring to yourself in the third person. That makes my head hurt."
"Can the Colonel get you an aspirin?"
"No! Just listen! I want new carpet in the living room and new quartz countertops in the kitchen..."
"Okay, but..."
"Shut your piehole, knucklehead! I wasn't finished with my list."
When the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda makes a list, it ain't ever a short one. There's no wasted effort with the Colonel's bride. She can combine a thousand and one errands in a trip to town and prioritize them on a fuel-consumption optimized list that would bring a tear to a stingy logisticians glass eye.
The Colonel knows what you're thinking. You think he is exaggerating. "...a thousand and one errands? Seriously, Colonel?"
Yes. A thousand and one. Not gonna make the Colonel out a liar over one stinking errand.
"...and, I want a fancy new front door..."
The Colonel is resigned to renovation purgatory for the foreseeable future.
Wait until the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda sees the Colonel's list...
No comments:
Post a Comment