The boys stripped the upstairs bathroom down to nothing and the downstairs bathroom, directly below, became the only toilet for our seven person household. The youngest children hate the basement bathroom. It has been stripped down to the concrete foundation and cinderblock walls, so it is very, very cold. I dislike the cold seat, but my current complaint is the large hole in the ceiling where the upstairs bathtub plumbing has been removed. It is disconcerting to sit down in the bathroom beneath demolition noises while sawdust pours down from above. It is downright constipating to have family members peek down from above to ask questions about things like drain height at a time when you reaaaally need privacy.
All of that is just a long way of saying that I was feeling . . . cranky about some aspects of the kudzu project. I slumped around the house, trying to find where the children put the toothpaste while I talked on the phone. I spotted the toothpaste on the kitchen table, beside a small propane torch. You know, because everyone’s kitchen table has a torch and toothpaste on it.
Armed with toothpaste, I turned toward the kitchen sink where toothbrushing occurs during the kudzu project. My first step forward became a slide as I put my foot down on the unseen until that moment, square frame with wheels that Doug calls a dolly. There was nothing I could do to stop myself from doing a Jerry Lewis quality pratfall. My head and back hit the floor as my well padded seat and right leg slammed down on the aforementioned dolly of death.
“Did you hear that noise?” “Yes. What was it?” “That was me breaking my b*tt. I need to call you back after I curl up on the floor and cry.”