Sunday, 17 April 2011

Renovations = Relationship Ruiner?

Well, the weekend is almost over and I have to tell you mine wasn't full of rest and relaxation.
Instead it was filled with another R word. Renovations.

(sigh) Renovations are simular to a nasty flu. Although, I think I'd prefer the flu. Much like dry heaving, renovations can have you purging just the same. Whether it be the price, or the simple fact of who is doing the demos the out come is still the same....they suck!

In my case it is the latter. The who. And that person is my husband. Please don't misunderstand me, I love my husband, but we do not work well together.
Especially when it is the demolition of my kitchen wall. You see, the problem stems way back. He is irish and I am italian. Need I say more?
I am a born arguer. I don't mind a little confrontation now and then, however he'd tell you I like it. Pish Posh. He on the other hand is a one track person, and therefore does not clean up behind him.
He figures this is my part of the job. AND folks, this is where the problem begins.

I don't mind helping. I am willing to meet half way, and that would be by helping him clean. You know, holding the dust pan, plug in the vacuum, supervising.
He doesn't quite see it that way, and so the fight starts.

While he is ripping down the wall, I take up my broom and begin to clean. This is not the thing to do apparently. Oops.
A tool gets lost amongst the rubble littering my kitchen floor. What tool? I ask unconcerned glancing over at him. I'm met with a glare scary enough to frighten the devil.
Don't judge me. I don't know the fancy names for these things. I only know what they do by their shape, and that's it!

Well, you'd think it was the end of the world. I suddenly became the abductor of the tool. I somehow kidnapped the dodad and was holding it hostage. Yes, dear husband this is what I've done!
Are you kidding me?
Give me a bloody break!!
I was cleaning. A task, may I remind you was handed down to me.

I knew I wouldn't throw away a tool. It was some where in the kitchen. But it wasn't until the doors had been slammed a few times, and some good curse words spewed from our arguing lips, that the little tool made itself known. It had fallen into the recycle bin.
Phew, that was close. I took my leave and went shopping, and he continued on his project. And wouldn't you know it, we are getting along just fine!

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