Monday, November 30, 2009

I'm glad my hubby doesn't believe in divorce, but I'm worried about murder

These were my tweets tonight:

Bronwyn_MayB: Let drywall guys into the house. Told them not to worry about their shoes. Might be sleeping in the garage tonight after I clean the carpets.

Bronwyn_MayB: If my life were a sitcom, I would be the fat awkward guy who always screws up. I would give anything to be the hot disapproving wife.

 Let me show you what happened.

I let the drywall guys into the yard to show them the window they will be able to load the drywall through.  Then, I opened the garage so they could get into the basement.  They had one drop cloth that wouldn't cover the entire way from the door to the steps.  I figured it would be one trip down the steps -- no big deal.  I told them to carry on and I would worry about it later.  They went downstairs.

That's when I remembered that it had snowed the other night and melted during the day.  That's also when I heard The Guy's head explode.  I told him not to worry I would clean it up and he wouldn't notice a thing afterwards.  He went to bed unconvinced.

I moved the one drop cloth to cover as much as I could of the steps.  Then, I ignored the workers as they wandered up and down the stairs.  When they left, I went to look at the steps.  This is what I saw.

Well... shit.

The Guy came out to take a look.  He then shook his head, turned around, and went back into the bedroom.  I'm a little concerned he won't come out, but since I know he has to work in the morning I imagine he will come out sometime.

 I got to work.  Thank God, my mother taught me how to clean up a mess.  She was taught by a good family friend who could get the spots out of a leopard.  Grandma W. taught my mom how to get out anything from anything.  She and her husband had owned a car lot back in the day.  Mom used to tell me a story about how they had purchased a car from a police auction -- a car involved in a homicide.  Grandma W grabbed a bottle of fantastic and went to work.  After that, there was no sign of the blood and they could sell the car.  I counted on that level of skill as I went to work.

Forty-five minutes later, my arm is sore, my jeans are filthy and the carpet is clean.  Well, clean-er.  I don't imagine it will withstand the scrutiny of The Guy, but it might keep me from having to sleep in the spare room for a month.


  1. Dear God, woman, that is horrendous!
    You need to post an after picture.

  2. And maybe rent a carpet cleaner.

  3. No workman worth his pay should have made a mess like that REGARDLESS of your permission! I'd be having words with my contractor and seeking the cost of replacement carpet. However, I am currently in a rather litigious (did I spell that right??) mood.

  4. Holy. Crap.

    I think that was a douchebaggy move on the part of the repair guys to be okay with tracking in mud like that.

    I'm with Sherendipity- you need to post an after pic.

  5. Listen: PROSOLVE. It's what the crazy old dude who cleaned the bookstore I worked at used on carpets. It is MAGIC. Try it. Spray bottle, to be had in grocery stores. Good luck.

  6. The only thing I got out of this story was the hope that I would find a guy who values things that are clean as much as your guy does. Sorry. The after pic does look good though.


Crap monkies say "what?"