It occurred to me, around midnight last night, that a live-in carpenter is a lovely thing.
Prior to that thought, my carpenter and I had gone out on the town.
Our date-night involved a 45 minute wait at our local seafood restaurant with which we killed time at one of the many available guy stores. This particular guy store had some components for my unfinished closet. A simple hint, and $40.00 later they were mine.
I thought I’d find a nice corner for them, maybe incorporate them into the décor, which still includes several tools and unfinished bits and pieces mixed in with the pretty places.
Imagine my surprise as I headed upstairs after putting a load of clothes in the washing machine to find my eldest daughter waiting for me.
“Should I be concerned that Dad is wearing his pajamas, and carrying a drill?”
Didn’t seem at all odd to me. I shrugged.
But then I heard the lovely sound of drilling, from the very back of the house, near the center of my closet.
Carefully, so as not to break any spells, I tiptoed to my bedroom. There, on my bed, lay the rest of my closet, except for the piece in his hand.
All this to tell you….drum roll please….my closet is done. Whoo-hoo.
Oh my, what does that do to my excuse for not being unpacked?
