The only metaphor that I can rightly compare home-reno to is birth. It's gory, unglamorous, graphic, embarrassing, agonizing, and tedious. You get the idea... The list of adjectives is endless. Having strangers parade through your spread eagle home is probably the worst though. Anyone who wants to snap on a rubber glove filled with KY can have a feel or a peek at your private parts-in all their humiliating glory. And you know they are judging. I wanted to die a thousand-gazillion deaths when one of the lady workers needed to use the boy-barians' bathroom. I knew the toilet was ba-scusting. That weird orange ring around the inside rim was proof enough. I was so humiliated that I cowered and cringed in my own bedroom-kinda like Eve in the garden when God was shaking his finger at her 'bout that damn apple. I really wanted to blame it on Adam! I never could look that poor (rightfully traumatized) woman in the eye. And yes, I understand that construction workers generally use a porta-potty, and what could be more ba-scusting than that, right??? Uhhhmmm, well....that would be blither blather facilities. I wish I were more of an avenging-cleaning-angel wielding her righteous toilet brush aloft, but honestly I more closely resemble a slutty slattern with legs akimbo reclining on a sagging sofa. I just can't bring myself to feel inspired... Plus God made boys to pee all over ery'thing, right??? Who am I to interfere with the Almighty's plan???
Like birth, no one can do home-reno for you. There are no willing surrogates. You just gotta grit your teeth, take as may legal drugs as possible, and remember the Queen as you perform your duty to God and country. As you can tell, I am desperate to wrap this baby up and pull down my proverbial nightgown over my lady parts. This process has been quite unladylike.
Laws, y'all...!
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