Guest blogger Kris continues her tale of home-improvement woe:
My first penetential act came the next morning when I emptied the bedroom closet. I put the winter coats from the hall closet in the basement so I could hang my husband's work shirts and slacks there to keep them wrinkle free. Then I laid in supplies (like groceries, prescriptions and clean laundry) for the journey. Last, I made a pilgrimage to the hardware store.
Odysseus had his Mentor; I have Hardware Joe. I sacrificed cash on the altar of commerce. And because I had pleased the do-it-yourself remodeling gods, Joe gave me useful tools (in this case, premixed joint compound, premixed textured base coat, shellac-based primer, and a specially vented mask to wear when sanding that wouldn't fog my glasses) and his wise counsel.
When my husband returned from work, I was still getting the Naughty Box treatment, but I sucked it up and let him instruct me on the correct technique for applying spackle. And dictate sanding tools and techniques to use the next morning.
The interior of the Naughty Box looks a lot like a thorny path along the River Styx, but I focused on the goal, not the miseries of the journey.
Until the next morning.
I woke up early to sand and put on the next layer of spackle before waking up the kids for school, so I was covered in powdered spackle when my husband sniped, "Where did you put my glasses?" He'd worn them to work the previous day, so I hadn't misplaced them in the process of emptying the bedroom.
"I'm sick of you being mad about this already," I shrilled from behind my ventilated mask, stomping through the house trailing a cloud of dust as I scanned likely surfaces. "You put them on the microwave again." He ignored my glare of vindication as he came to get them.
When he leaned in for a goodbye kiss, I offered him my cheek and said, "I want out of the Naughty Box. Now." And breathed menacingly through my vent like Darth Vader. He nodded assent, but didn't look me in the eye.
Fine, I thought, no longer feeling penitent. Then I went to the bedroom to shop vac.