Backatcha.

After the furious fun of Florida I was probably way overdue for a cold hard slap of reality.

And I got it.

When we were in Florida, in a weirdly provocative, probably drunken dream, I had dreamt that, while Miss Carol and me partied, swarms of little people had swarmed all over our house and finished it- you know, kinda like Ty Pennington and his crew had a coupla days to spare and had taken pity on me and my foolish dreams?

But nooooooo.

The Little House of Horrors was still waiting for me when Miss Carol and me got back. Still standing there, looking kinda school-marmish, hands on hips, scowling, and tapping one foot impatiently- come on dude, enough’s enough with the fun already, time to saddle up and ride, The Little House of Horrors said, You started all this with your biiiiig talk of ooooh-won’t-it-be-fun-to-build-a-house?  So hey, bring it. The Little House of Horrors said, You’ve talked the talk asswipe, now you gotta walk the walk, buddy-boy.

So I took a deep breath, wistfully remembered my dream briefly, braced myself, and took the cold hard slap as manfully as I could.

At least I didn’t cry.

But it was tough, man. We had flown back on Saturday and on Sunday morning I was meeting with the plumber, laying everything out so that they could get started during the week and after he left, I stayed at The Little House of Horrors and re-worked a bunch of the electrical rough-in.

A bit of backstory- originally we were going to have recessed lighting everywhere. It’s totally cheap, totally innocuous, and totally bleah. Recessed lighting really does nothing for me, except that, you know, did I mention it’s cheap? Anyway, a couple of weeks ago, I had roughed in all these fixtures, thinking, you know, WHATEVER. Cheap is good, right?

Then. Down in South Beach? In the room we stayed in for all of one wild ride of a night?

Sconces baby.

Warm, lowly lit, wall sconces everywhere. I gazed upon them rapturously while the angels sang to me and I knew we had to have wall sconces in The Little House of Horrors. F the recessed lighting and it’s coldly impersonal bleahness.

After a couple of cocktails I was able to convince Miss Carol just how desperately we needed wall sconces.

But I wasn’t able to convince her about the air brushed wall mural.

Damn.

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4 responses to “Backatcha.

  1. Whew. Thank God- you tell Miss Carol to stand strong about that air-brushed wall mural. 🙂 That and any velvet Elvis’ pics you have a notion to hang…… xoxo

  2. And the dogs playing poker. Gotta have.
    When tackiness is all you have, you gotta cling to it.

  3. –>I still think you should call it THE LOVE SHACK. Then you can call your car THE LAB CAB.

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