If my writing is a bit loopy I am going to blame it on the fumes. The Mayor and I are floating from a contact high resulting from the sniffing of stains and polyurethanes. We are living next door in the adjoining house and the smells have traveled through the floors, under the house and into where we are, rendering us completely sick. Blech! as Lucy Van Pelt would say.
But, the floors are lovely, stained Sedona Red and coated in semi-gloss poly. The cabinets are due to be delivered tomorrow and then we just wait for the appliances, which are being shipped from the four corners of the earth. We are getting down to the little things like faucets and lighting... and funny enough, these choices are proving to be the most difficult. The Mayor goes cross-eyed in places like Expo and turns crabby fairly quickly. A Starbucks Red-eye bribe only lasts so long before he has to exit the store in a fit of frustration. I, on the other hand, could luxuriate in those places like it was a spa day. I love opening every fridge door. I had to revisit the double wall ovens we purchased, along with all of the others that didn't make the cut. The Mayor remarked, "Darling, we have already bought the ovens." What he doesn't seem to understand is that I want to feel good about what I have purchased and I can only do that if I open them all and slam them shut and say, "Oh, ours is so much better than this one."
This week we also regrouped with the famous kitchen designer. We picked out granite countertops:
So, all is still going smoothly but we are so sick of being kitchenless. The Mayor dreams of being able to open the fridge to containers of leftovers. I can't wait to cook something again. The extent of my cooking has been heating a corn tortilla on the neighbor's burner. But once that Aga is in, look out. I'll have to throw parties for weeks to get the cooking itch out.