It's Here!

Hear that?

That is the sound of my new kitchen flooring being put down. The noise is a sander, I reckon, and the house sounds like a giant dentist is at work.

Which explains the nervous tic I've developed.

We spent all day Saturday and a good bit of time last night moving everything out of the kitchen and off the pantry floor.

My kitchen is fair sized - about twelve by sixteen or eighteen or something like that.

But I was surprised to find out it held enough stuff to stock an entire subdivision in Marietta. 

Maybe more.

And the filth? Oh, lawd. We clean out from behind the refrigerator on a regular  occasional  yearly almost never basis. I hope this teaches us a lesson, after we overcome PTSD, to start vacuuming out from back there at least twice a year.

Now, our stove is a drop in and appears to be sealed tight. It is a gas stove, and we don't mess with moving it. Heck, I hardly mess with it at all, ifyouknowwhatImean, andIthinkyoudo.

So I was appalled when the fellers moved it and there was nightmarish stuff back there, too.

They didn't seem too surprised, or maybe they were in such a state of shock no emotion showed on their faces.

I've waited five long years for this floor. We updated the kitchen a bit then, but as I've said, we ran out of money. It seems every time after that, when I had the money, some strange need came up and there went my cash.

If I was rich, I would have got my first choice in flooring. But I'm not rich, so we quickly ran over to choice number two.

I think I can live with it for thirty or so  years. That's how long I lived with the floor they are covering up.

And I don't figure I have much more than thirty years in me, if that.
Heck, I might go Home before they finish the floor.

If that happens, I wonder if Husband knows where the checkbook is.