Reason number three hundred fifty seven to hate the people who lived here before me: They glued down their carpet.
Reason number three hundred fifty eight to hate the people who lived here before me: They filled holes in the original hardwood floors with joint compound, and then glued carpet to it.
What are reasons one through three hundred fifty six? I don't have enough time to list them all but having to remove glued down and disintegrated-by-time carpet padding, some of which was glued to crumbling plaster, is definitely worth mentioning. But, aside from the quarter inch of bright yellow dust covering every semi-flat surface in my house, I am fairly happy with how the new kitchen floor looks. Ryan is of course disappointed that we didn't paint, which is what her limited experience with carpet-induced parental insanity has taught her should come next, but the kitchen looks nice. And the dust has given me the motivation to finally clean ten years of cigarette smoke off the kitchen walls. But Tom is hobbling around stoop-shouldered like an old man, and my flat feet are hurting more than they have in a long time and the curb in front of my house has a higher mountain of trash bags than any other house on the street. All in all, a productive couple of days.
On a lighter note, Tom seemed to like the new giant rolling tool chest I got him for our anniversary, even though it got wedged in the back of my mom's pickup truck and he had to provide the muscle to get it out, and then wrestle it down to his basement workshop. And I love my gift. A purse, a pair of gloves (three is the 'leather anniversary') and the black pearl ring that I have wanted forever. To hear Tom tell it, I have "been talking about that damn thing for the past three years." He spoils me so much.
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