I poured milk on my salad.
I didn't even notice.
If you've been wondering why I went quiet on my kitchen planning ("tiny 20s kitchen), it's because we planned a month overlap with our apartment to do a few little jobs in the house before tackling the kitchen. You know, do the floors. Add a few outlets and some lights. Add A/C, which I planned as one of those mini-duct systems--that was supposed to be the one big job.
Instead, we have:
- Replaced the entire heating system
- Spent enough on electrical to purchase a small car. The 8-day job turned into 28 days as the contractor went off to start other jobs
- Replaced large amounts of trim throughout the house, for reasons I can't remember now
- Had to replaster room after room after room, because the HVAC and electrical people never, ever ever want to seem to leave my house. The plasterer doesn't anymore, either, unless it's in the new Lexus I bought him
- Gutted the only bathroom
Yes, gutted the only bath. We move in next Saturday. Gutted. Bath. No bath. None.
The reason is, the town lost our permit a month ago and forgot to tell us it had been signed. We weren't even going to reno this bath; it wasn't to our taste, but we thought a buff and puff would be fine. Until we discovered the diverter leak, the black mold in the kitchen from the diverter leak, and the fact that the subfloor clearly had done something to offend the walls, because they were really trying to avoid each other. Etc. Then I accidentally ordered tile that was five times--yes, five times--higher than my budget. Accidentally. After rejecting the tile I really wanted because it was way too expensive.
So, I'm sort of trying to pack, and ps my leg broke, I'm on crutches and a brace, and I go to the fridge and make a salad, and pour milk on it. Because I'm really thinking about who opened a hole in the kitchen wall that we aren't even renovating yet, and who will put it back, and why my garage is filled with construction debris that I swear came from another house, because we hadn't demo'd anything yet.
The best part is not actually the pouring of milk on the salad. It's the telling of the story, which I did several days later to a friend.
"I poured milk on my salad."
"What do you mean, 'so?' I POURED MILK. ON MY SALAD. ON MY SALAD. MILK. SALAD. Don't you find that odd? A bad sign? Something?"
Friend:"Everybody does that."
Me (screaming): "Are you f&*&^% nuts?? Who pours milk on their salad? Are you even listening to me? SALAD SALAD SALAD."
At that precise moment, I realized that, while I had meant to say "salad," I had actually been saying "cereal" the entire time.
"I POURED MILK ON MY CEREAL!!! YOU REALLY DON'T FIND THAT ODD? ARE YOU NUTS?? Milk? On my CEREAL?!?"
Screaming, mind you.