Don't Slam the Door!

That was my thought as all of the workers went in and out of our front door during this entire shower-remodeling project. But of course, I didn't say that. (You know how men are-- they never listen anyway.)

The good news-- the shower in the master bathroom is all done. Plumbing leaks all taken care of, old shower ripped out, new shower and glass doors installed-- done, done, done! And, as I've said-- we lucked out with such a great home-improvement company. Everyone they sent here was on time, all the time, and worked cleanly and efficiently. They promised they'd have this whole thing finished before the day of our Halloween party, and they were true to their word.

And now that it's over, tomorrow will be the first day in the last eight that the door will not be slammed. AngelBoy will be happy... he can stop slapping his tail against the floor or his favorite chair, which he was doing two seconds after each door-slamming. When the workers first came to the house, he'd meow in a low groaning way that he has when he's annoyed with something. (Such a prissy little thing, this cat.) He's used to a quiet house. Come to think of it, so are we. But sometimes, noise is just unavoidable (as in workmen) or just plain fun (as in our parties).

I got out of the habit of slamming doors many years ago, mainly due to my Aunt Dolly. If you slammed a door in her house, she'd make you go back to the door that you slammed and close it again-- quietly. So after a bunch of times doing just that, I quickly learned just not to slam a door, or a drawer, or a cabinet-- anything. It's a habit that's stayed with me. If my Aunt Dolly had been in this house during all of this bathroom remodeling, the workers would have been re-closing the doors all the time, or she would've broken them of that habit. (Or they would've probably just walked out the front door and not come back in!)

I wonder what she would've done with the one worker who chewed tobacco the whole time he was here and used the commode in the master bathroom as a spittoon. Ever seen the inside of a spittoon? Neither had I, but I did see what that commode looked like after just a couple of spits. Not pretty. But I was good-- I just looked the other way, and that man cleaned it all out before he left. (Of course, I cleaned it again after he went home for the day.) Nasty habit, that chewing tobacco. Why in the world anyone would want to have a mess of tobacco-stuff inbetween their gums and the inside of their cheek is just beyond me. But what do I know? I'm just a transplanted city-girl.

Nothing else really to write about today... I spent the whole day here, except for a quick run out to the grocery store early this morning. Just couldn't wait any longer-- there wasn't a piece of fruit in this house, and that's not a good thing. I needed a banana-fix. So while I was out, I picked up extra soda and milk and coffee for the party on Saturday. Everything is set for that.

Now that the bathroom work is done and no one is in the bathroom or the dressing room, I can go through my closet and figure out just what sort of "costume" I will wear for the "Death By Desserts" party. I have something in mind, but I have to see what's hanging up in the closet. Surely there is enough there so I don't have to be running out to buy something.

Oh... the faux fox jacket from QVC was delivered yesterday. They had me on a wait-list, being that it sold out the day it was aired on TV, but I guess their wait-list is just a formality. Sure wasn't much of a wait. They must have a warehouse filled with extras. The fox jacket is gorgeous... fits like a dream... and is so soft and pretty. Now-- all I need is a good cold day this winter to wear it. (Yesterday was around 96, so when I tried it on, I had the air-conditioning on full-blast.) Surely... there will be a few days this "winter" when I can wear it.

This weekend is the turning-back of the clocks. Isn't that right: "Fall - back, and Spring - ahead?" I think that's how it goes. I wish we would all just leave the clocks right where they are. I don't think they ever change the clocks in Arizona. I have an aunt and uncle and cousins living out there... I never know what time it is when I telephone them. So I usually just call in the middle of the afternoon here, to be on the safe side there.

I'm rambling on and on about nothing. Like the old Seinfeld show. Time to say goodnight, Gracie. Or goodnight, Jerry... whatever the case may be.