The city we live in is rather hilly and slanty; in other words, our home has funny angles and probably could pass for something drawn by the late Dr. Seuss. Last year we replaced both front and back storm doors; one was curiously narrow, while the other was inordinately tall. Neither of them was terribly straight. Our porch is sloped, so the spaces for the railing are an odd measurement.
It is a gloomy errand going to the hardware store with unusual measurements. During the hour we spent in the aisle with the wooden and vinyl railings we went back and forth between the two trying desperately to figure out how to reconcile our needs with the products on the shelves. The baby eventually fell asleep, but the little guy can only stay in one place for so long before he starts climbing up shelving and pushing displays around the floor.
Our custom, when dealing with home improvements, is to make at least one futile trip to the store where we don’t buy anything and we come away almost as perplexed as before. So, of course we finally called it quits, unwound the zany toddler from the ceiling fixtures and went home to lunch.
After lunch daddy went to another store, by himself, and called me a half-dozen times to confer about what merchandise to buy. This sort of thing completely stresses me out. As much as I would like to, I don’t have an aptitude for jobs that require power tools. As it is, I’m on the edge of my seat the entire time, just waiting for some catastrophe to take place.My hubby has a good instinct and he feels manly when he can break out the big tools, so I’m going to squeeze my eyes shut real tight and wait for it all to be over. Oh, and I’ll be doing a lot of