He had no idea when I started blogging to fulfill my own need for written expression and stress relief that he would be subjected to full public disclosure of the antics that go on in this home. I do just want to preface this post with the fact that HE was the one who asked me if I was going to blog about it when it happened....and I did get his permission to proceed. :-)
Troy is NOT a handyman and would much rather live in an apartment where the maintenance is someone else's responsibility and just a phone call away. My friends often tell me I should just threaten him that I am going to hire someone to complete the pending work and projects around the house and that this should "scare him" into finishing whatever it is. Not my husband. He would be ecstatic if I would just go hire someone and he would go merrily about his own business. Every once in a great while though, he surprises me and gets the bug to complete some long-ago started project without my constant whining and begging and pleading and groveling and bartering and....you catch my drift.
Friday was one of those days. Our guest bathroom has been in a state of "we're remodeling" for over a year now. It took me forever and a day to pick out the new mirror for this project and then to "Infinity and beyond" (to quote Buzz) to pick the new light fixture. So, much of the delay was in fact my issue....but the normal procrastination by Mr. Troy was also in play. We have had all of the new supplies eagerly lined up awaiting their new positions in the soon-to-be greatest guest bath ever (haha) for quite some time. Our housekeeper doesn't even bother to go in there any more- she is quite used to our remodeling antics that remain in a perpetual state of incompleteness and knows that I really just want her to dust and vacuum anyway. I am worried she might go into cardiac arrest when we leave that door open and there is actually a working light in there next week!
I work from home on Fridays and Troy's hours bring him to the house by 3 PM. So, that leaves about 1 or 2 hours that I have to keep working and keep reminding him that just because I am home doesn't mean I can party with him when he gets off work. This Friday, he barely stopped to kiss me on the forehead after his traditional "Lucy, I'm home!" greeting and disappeared into the darkness of the guest bathroom-land. Since we haven't had a working light fixture in that bathroom since Lassie was a pup, there is a big floor lamp plugged in to give us some light in case someone actually needs to use that restroom for the purpose it was intended in an emergency.
I am typing away, fielding calls from workers, and thinking in the back of my mind how surprised I am that Troy is not talking my ear off when I hear some very not nice words coming from the other side of the house. My husband is NOT a curser (I know this is shocking for some of you who are very close to me and don't know Troy all that well) so when he is cussing up a storm, I know something has gone awry. Ugh, what am I going to find in the guest bathroom that is going to set us back another 2 years? Before I can even make the journey around the hall, here comes my husband, sprinting across the bedroom into the bathroom that has an actual working light fixture in it and he is hiking up his leg in the mirror trying to catch a glimpse of something. "What the heck is going on in there Troy?! I am trying to WORK!"
"I burned my ass!"
"I BURNED MY ASS!"
I am so confused at this point I am not sure what in the world is going on. I put aside the pink laptop, sigh loudly (so he will be sure to know how inconvenienced I am at this point), and venture into our bathroom. There is Troy, dressed in a T-shirt and underwear, looking at his rear-end in the mirror. My eyebrows are all scrunched up trying to figure out exactly what has happened.
"Do you see it?!" He is not a happy camper I take it.
"My burned ass!"
Hmmmm, I do see something, what the heck is that? He points to a huge silver dollar sized red burn right on the bottom of his bum. It certainly looks like a burn. He does not appear to appreciate my slowness in accepting that he has burned his ass. "What were you doing," I inquire. "Trying to finish patching the hole in the wall!" I am still not understanding how this led to a burned rear-end. And why isn't he wearing any pants?! "I didn't want to get texture on my shorts!" He is really not getting any happier with me at this point. His bootie really looks kind of painful! That puppy is turning redder by the second!
"Exactly how did you burn your ass?"
"On the light bulb dangit!"
"Why was the cover off the lamp?"
"So I could see better!"
"How did that work out for you?"
"I burned my ass!"
Apparently, when he was stepping down off of the vanity top, he didn't realize the lamp was right behind him and set his bottom straight on top of the bare, exposed light bulb. I laughed so hard, I nearly cried. My worker actually thought I WAS crying when I had to pause from the riveting investigation into the burned rear-end to take a work phone call. I had to breathe deeply to be able to calm down enough to talk to her intelligently. Then came the all important question from my burned hubby...."Are you going to BLOG about this?!" Well........of course I am. You just can't make this stuff up.
Lord, I just want to say thank you for bringing this man into my life. Without him, I would have never known the joy of true love, the blessing of marriage, and the gift of great fun and laughter.