THIS OLD FARMHOUSE - Final segment (Scroll down for earlier segments)


     When I decided to remodel our bathroom, I made the mistake of telling Connie.  Of course, seeing the toilet in the living room caught her attention and caused some tension.  After she returned from a couple days and nights of binge shopping, I could see a due date flash across her mind.  Actually, she had gotten a tattoo on her forehead.  It was the due date. 

     “Very clever,” I told her.

     “Just a subtle hint,” she answered.

     Every day that she insisted I get the bathroom completed, I kept telling her I was right on schedule.  She had just failed to recognize one of the laws of nature; you have his and her due dates, and never the two shall meet.  I will admit, men must occasionally change the due date on their projects, but this is done only in extreme emergencies, such as taunting, threats, bodily harm or, worse yet, no dinner until it’s done.

     Connie mentioned she was tired of using the restroom at McDonald’s, and McDonald’s refused my request to put in a shower, so, for safety reasons, I changed my due date to match hers.

 

     I finished my project much sooner than expected, probably due to the fact I was starving.  It didn't turn out exactly like I had planned; the toilet flushed every time we turned on the shower, and the bath water started running every time we flushed the toilet, but, living in the old farmhouse, we learned to adapt.

 

     After enough time had passed to dull her memory of the bathroom, I approached Connie with my next project.  “Is there anything we need to talk about?” I asked.

    

     “Why?” she asked, beginning to tremble.

    

     “I was planning to remodel Mindy’s room, and I knew that once I started, we wouldn’t be talking for a while.”  She left immediately for the pharmacy, looking for an anti-remodeling vaccine while our son was calling the locksmith to get a deadbolt lock put on his door.

    

     I used to think remodeling would be fun and easy because I always watched programs on television like This Old House, where Bob Vila was always smiling, and the nails went in straight; and everything was done in thirty minutes.  Then I discovered remodeling off TV… the darker side of remodeling: grinding your teeth to the gums, talking to your hammer in a high-pitched voice, blowing cold air on hot swollen thumbs, and trying to explain to the hardware man why you’re returning a sack full of bent nails...”they weren’t strong enough to go in straight, and does he have others that are stronger, like spikes?”  On top of this, your project is taunting you, daring you to come back and finish what you started. 

 

     Forget the due date.  Let’s go test the fishing.  I’ll just call Bob Vila and have him stop by THIS old farmhouse, and finish my project with a smile; and it will be done before I cast my line. 

 

 

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