Yee-ouch, Laborers Edition

I’m a klutz and so this means that many activities are fraught with peril, sometimes even common ones. You can’t avoid them all.*

You can, however, let them pile up for a good month or so (well, two), as I did with the ironing. My only visible hand scar is from an ironing incident in college. At least the result of this evening’s effort, with still half the ironing left to be done, only yielded the steaming of one thumb. This is a fairly routine injury for moi, who is queen of pouring the tea water onto my hand from the electric teakettle. It’s been a few months though, and it smarts nonetheless.

This weekend: grabbed a fun bite with Scalzi and cohorts Toby Buckell and Paul Melko, in town to do a bookstore appearance, which was fun but we had to flee immediately afterward to exercise dogs and collapse after tough week;  bought new shoes from John’s during fleeing (Christopher had to make a quick trip to Whole Foods for dog treats–I shop fast); chose bathroom paint colors and painted bathroom; stayed up late to read the final Upper Class book, Crash Test, gleefully bought at the bookstore Friday; got eye exam; checked out a big bunch of books at the library; did second coat; ironed; watched Gossip Girl season premiere; and started Susan Vaught’s fabulous young adult novel Big Fat Manifesto. Not necessarily in that order.

Long story short version: The master bath is mango-ish colored! Feel free to visit. It is lovely. (Even better after Wednesday when the floor people come.) We got a start on the office, but C’s doing most of that this week.

* Of course, I’m also just kind of lazy about hefting stuff and even moderate physical exertion in high humidity–earlier in the weekend Christopher asked me to take a few loose shelves from a bookcase he was going to carry outside solo to leave for passersby** and when he raised his eyebrows at my pathetic attempt, I replied, "My work is the life of the mind." Or something similarly lame. I may not be proud, but I know my limits. I did the edging on the painting in the bathroom though. So there.

**Gone inside 15 minutes, and to very nice liberal arts students.

1 thought on “Yee-ouch, Laborers Edition”

  1. When my help is solicited for tasks I prefer not to undertake, I quote the operator of the storage facility from The Silence of the Lambs:
    “I would ask my driver to help you, but he detests physical labor.”
    Where is the operator of my facility who can say the same about me?

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