Honey-Do: Old Paint

Although the gasoline prices are coming down ever so slowly, I just know they are setting us up for the sky-high levies they are going to lay on us for our home-heating oil. I know it is only October, but soon enough those falling leaves will be reminding us that Old Man Winter is already peeking over the horizon. My job requires me to drive, so I had to pay the freight. If I want to keep my ass warm this winter, I'll have to pay that price too.

Did you hear that North Dakota had twenty inches of snow a few days ago? Brrr!

Using The Pointmeister's Dictionary of the American Lingo As It Should be, But Seldom Is Vol 5, I came across this definition for Old Paint: The new name given to Thunder Flash, the sure thing that decided to run the wrong way, prompting you to declare, "Oh well, I never liked that house anyway."

That definition however, wasn't quite what I needed for this post. The answer to where I could find a better meaning was an easy one. He must have been out harvesting some blogging material of his own, so I snuck a peak into Old Hoss' Favorite Word of the Day Dictionary. There I found under Old Paint: Any paint applied up to five minutes ago which yields from your wife the comment, "I don't like the color."

That brings us to the return of Honey-Do and Honey-Do's contribution to the Wedding plans. The scene: our house. The date: Wednesday, Oct. 6, 2005. The time: 9:45am. The mood: less than thrilled.

Due to the events of a so-far unchronicled Honey-Do crisis, it had been decided that I should paint the back hall. It is a small back hall that separates the kitchen from the porch. In fact, the back hall is simply an enclosed portion of a once larger back porch. Undermined by a water leak from the pipe for the outdoor hose bib, a 2-foot by 4-foot section of the flooring was in serious need of repair. Just how serious that need for repair was, presented itself about ten days ago when the leg of a chair my wife was using as a step stool to change some curtains, decided to take a peek under the floor boards. She didn't fall and was not hurt.

So on Saturday, two days after the chair leg's intrusion into that nether world beneath the back hall, I found myself and my future son-in-law ripping up flooring. We found the under-flooring in as much disrepair as the upper flooring. The opening we made left us with the 2x4 opening mentioned above. The culprit responsible was a three foot section of half-inch copper tubing which fed the hose connection outside. From supplies used to replace the kitchen faucets earlier in the summer, we were able to take care of the leak. After about four hours we nailed in the last length of new flooring and called it a job well done.

Actually, that was only the beginning of the work on that back hall. Of course when you tear up a floor, especially a tiled one, that means that new tiles have to be laid down. Honey-Do never chooses a job for me unless it can be classified as a project. Since everything had been removed from the back hall during the flooring job, including the refrigerator, it was the natural order of things that I would have to not only tile, but to also repaint.

So on Wednesday morning sipping a cup of coffee, or as Dolly Pardon called it in her song 9 To 5, a cup of ambition, I stood silently surveying the job facing me. Most tiles today, except for ceramic, have no need of adhesive, you just have to peel away some paper and then press them to the floor. Not so the tile squares my wife had found "at a bargain." By early afternoon I had been to the Hardware Store for the adhesive and had started to work. Now did I mention that we were in the midst of an upcoming Wedding? Do you think that they thought to use the front door for coming and going that afternoon? At this time, I choose to plead the Fifth.

In most cases, the man has little to do when there is a Wedding involved. For the most part all we need to know is when, where and what time? That is the law that was set down long before any of were born. But somewhere along the path of evolution there arose the first Honey-Do. Ever since, the duties for man during these celebrations have grown expotentially. As the Bridesmaids and Matron will be at our house the day of the wedding, a usually calm and collected me will be cast into a caldron of activity that no man would knowingly venture anywhere near.

Hosting such activity meant that there was massive cleaning to be done. I found out then that this house was seriously lacking one important and needful feature - an elevator. Lord help me, the loads I had to lug to the basement! ...And on the sixth day just after creating man and woman, and just before he took Sunday off, God created the Chiropractor. Poor Adam, even he knew Honey-Do as he had to chop down a whole tree just so Eve could find just the right fig leaves. As a result, only two-thirds of the painting was done and zero-thirds of the tiling was done.

Fast forwarding to Thursday, you find the hero finally laying tiles. If you have never laid tiles requiring paste, I must tell you it is one messy job. If you are lucky, by the time you finish the job, only the hair on your head is free of that adhesive! Now throw in a bunch of animal hair, and you begin to know how that actor must have felt in that Chewbaca outfit while they were filming Star Wars. Once again, my daughter's and wife's activities did not seemingly require the use of the front door! Do you remember the freight from the day before? Where did all that crap come from? Otis, my (elevator) man! Get over here and do your thing!

Well, Thursday's work ended with one-third of the tiles down. The work was stopped because I had to clean up for the Rehearsal Party. Surely, I thought then, everything should go smoothly for that. It would be nice to relax over a meal afterward too. The place where we were to dine was close too, only about ten minutes away.

On the next day, Friday, I could finish laying the tile. I could turn myself into a pack-animal again to get some more of our everyday life hauled into seclusion in the basement. Then later, after cleans up from that messy adhesive, I could hop in my truck, motor up the highway for my tuxedo. How simple is that? Surely nothing else could go wrong or become more complicated than it ought to be!

No.369