Someone Almost Got Murdered With A Squeegee This Weekend

Isn’t squeegee like the best word ever? Almost as good as the word cake. Squeegee. Awesome.

*ahem*

Anyway.

So our house is turning 7 years old this summer. I didn’t think that was very old for a house. The house I grew up in was almost 100 years old when my parents sold it and the only problem I remember about it was the ghost that hung out there. I’ll tell you that story later. Maybe.

But now I’m thinking that maybe my selfish child/teenage brain didn’t pay much attention back when I was living there, because my 7 year old house is falling apart. Okay, maybe only parts of it are falling apart. Okay fine, none if it is falling apart. It’s just breaking down a little bit. Maybe houses are like dogs and 7 years is more like 49 years? Because we’ve had to replace parts in both of our air conditioners (yes, we have two because we’re fancy rednecks, thankyouverymuch). And our kitchen tiles are cracking and buckling spontaneously and 5 of our windows have broken seals so they have that foggy, wet look about them. Our landscaping that looked so cute and neat when we moved in is now overgrown and jungle-like. Our sprinkler system only works on manual mode and sometimes it comes on even when it’s turned completely off. You get the picture. Lots of little projects to be tackled.

Because we have no money to pay professionals for all these projects, Captain Carl and I have been learning a lot about home improvement. And hiding the kitchen knives from each other. Yeah. We do not work well together. Things could get real stabby around our place real quick if either of us had easy access to pointy things.

See, the problem is that both of us are experts at everything. Curtain rod installation? Experts. Air filter replacement? Experts. Hedge clipping? Total experts. So with all this expertise floating around, it’s hard to do any projects without the words “fuck” and “you” being thrown about. You’d think after 7 years of wedded bliss and home ownership we would have learned by now to stagger the home improvement jobs far apart to give our marriage a chance to recover. After all, we almost got divorced over a vicious furniture moving incident two years ago. It was ugly, y’all. Pillows were flung, temper tantrums occurred.

Nope, haven’t learned a thing. For some reason this weekend, we decided to tackle not one but two projects. Landscaping on Friday and solar window film application on Sunday. It was like the MMA of matrimony. I have no idea what we were thinking. Well, I know what I was thinking...

Okay, this time just keep your mouth shut when he wants to do it the wrong way. Let him be all manly and shit and then when he does it wrong, you can fix it and smile serenely. It’ll kill him. It’ll be awesome.

I should totally win an award for being such a great wife.

So the landscaping went pretty well actually. We had already pulled out the old shrubs a few days before. He dug and I pulled and we only called each other jerks and assholes a couple of times. So all we had to do Friday was put in the new plants, which we did with no problems. I asked the Captain afterwards how we managed to get through it still speaking to each other and he was all “Probably because I don’t care about stupid plants.” and I was all “They aren’t stupid, they’re important!” and he was all “meh.” and I was all “Screw you then!” and he was all “Don’t take it personally, it’s no big deal.” and I was all “Your mom’s no big deal. Ha! I win!” *dancing pelvic thrusts*.

Like I said before: Me. Great Wife. Award. Right here. This lady.

So we got through the landscaping relatively unscathed and were feeling confident about our Sunday project of applying solar film to our bedroom windows. The Captain watched the instructional video on the laptop while I clipped coupons in the kitchen and yelled “Turned it up, I can’t hear it!” and “Wait, which side do we peel off?” and “We get to use razor blades? Sweet!”. That was pretty much the high point of the project. Then the Captain brought the ladder in and banged it into the wall and I asked him sweetly to please be careful and he irrationally screamed at me to shut my pie hole or something like that. I don’t know, the details are a little fuzzy and not important and no I did not start it. Shut up.

Then things got and stayed ugly. I won’t go into the sordid details, but let’s just say there was a lot of cursing and window film sticking to itself. It was a good thing the razor blades we used were dull. Also? There may or may not have been an incident involving a flying squeegee and Captain Carl’s head. Oh calm down, people. How was I supposed to know a rubber window cleaning device could rupture an eardrum? Geesh. It was totally accidental-ish.