"What do you think about tile in the living room?"

The answer I shouted was, "NO!" when my husband asked me just yesterday, "What do you think about tile in the living room?" 

We've just completed the kitchen project and now bathroom projects I haven't mentioned here because I don't want you to think we're rich not that there's anything wrong with that but I do want you to buy my book and the future others and yes this was a seriously run on sentence. 

But anyway... I don't think about tile in the living room. Who puts TILE in the living room? Tell me, anybody?

First off, we aren't going anywhere, so we won't be trying to sell this house. But I think tile in the living room is a design mistake. No worries you don't have to convince me, we're not doing that. Secondly, it's a dusty job. That's a lot of floor. That's a lot of dust. Third off, I am tired of having strange smelling people in my house, scratching armpits, and spitting dip in the paper cups I've provided them. Fourth off and frankly, I've seen enough butt crack to last in my memory for a lifetime. 

They did an awesome job and I am sure they were as tired of me as I was of them. The last thing I had to tell one of the dip spitters was that the shower curtain rod was too high.

Anyway, I'm not ready to do anything else right now. All the surfaces, nooks and crannies have been dusted.

So since the whole neighborhood knew we were getting new toilets thanks to them sitting on the lawn all weekend, I thought I'd tell you a story that can only happen...

In Kenya's World

So here's the thing. We had two dip spitters here this weekend. One said, "Installing the toilets won't take long."

Friday night they took one toilet out so they could start putting down the tile the next day. They got to our house on Saturday at the butt crack of dawn. 

Only one dip spitter could fit in the bathroom to put down the tile, so the other one goes to remove the other toilet because, installing the toilets won't take long.

Since they got there so early, I had not had a same day shower, my hair was dusty, and I really wasn't all that presentable. So what right? But then, three hours later during which my husband had run to Lowes to get toilet parts, I REALLY had to use the bathroom. 

I got in the car and passed up a gas station, then Walmart because I didn't want to look like a Walmart person, then two more gas stations before I decide, I'll go use the bathroom at the commissary. It's clean and I need some eggs. 

So I'm showing my ID card going through the gate, counting down the seconds until I can give my bladder some relief and the cop says, "Hold that vehicle" to the MP.

In the moments that followed "License and registration please", I found out that my registration had expired over a month ago. I got a lecture about how if I was out in town, I could have gotten a $400 ticket. Instead I got a citation, an order to go to base court and no I did not pee in my pants. 

I drove as fast as I could, 25 mph, ran into the commissary, dodged people to get in the bathroom and EXHALE! I made it.

I bought the eggs. I went home. 

I get home tell my husband what had happened and he's giving me this strange sour face look saying, "What is that on the back of your shirt?" the long white shirt that I slept in. 

I pull my shirt around and look down and yeah it looks gross. I may have sat on the ice cream sandwich wrapper that I had for breakfast dessert. At least that's what it smelled like.

Here's the thing... so everyone that saw me running into the commissary looking homeless, probably thought I had an accident. Thank goodness I didn't go to Walmart. And the poor dip spitters have probably seen enough ice cream sandwich on my butt to last in their memory for a lifetime. 

The End