This past weekend, Dave and I started a process which I am referring to as the DeWhiteTrashification of our home. It’s probably going to take all summer. I’m taking before-and-after photos, but I am not posting the “before” pictures up here until we have made substantial progress, because it is seriously embarassing.
True story: Back when Dave and I first started dating, he had a broken washer and dryer in the driveway. You’re supposed to call the waste management people to do a special “appliance pick-up” for things like that, rather than putting them in the regular trash. A little Sanford & Son-ish to leave it in the driveway, sure, but no big deal, right? I didn’t think it was a deal-breaker or anything, I just figured he was getting around to it.
A year later, when we were about to get married, the broken washer and dryer were still in the driveway. Since we were having the rehearsal dinner at our house, I sort of freaked out about it. Steve, my ever-helpful brother-in-law, moved the washer and dryer around to the side of the house, and lay them on their sides, so they wouldn’t be visible to people coming into the house.
A year after that, which brings us to current day: we have a completely rusted-out broken washer and dryer with grass growing up through them in our yard. Can you get more white trash than that? I think not.
And that is but one of oh-so-many things that we’ll be correcting over the next few months. I’m only admitting to the washer and dryer because that part is already resolved – they’re now sitting in our driveway, tucked safely inside a dumpster that we rented, which will soon be hauled away to someplace unknown where I never have to see or think about them ever again. I can’t wait.
I also went a little crazy with the weed-whacker yesterday. (And apparently I am 12 years old, because the term “weed-whacker” totally makes me giggle. Like hee hee, I said “whack”. Which isn’t funny if you think about it in the Sopranos sense of the word. But “whacker”? Y’all, I am not made of stone. That is a funny word.) Dave mowed the lawn while I weed-whacked. (Hee!) (Okay, I’ll stop.) I really had no idea what a workout that thing is – I noticed after I stopped that my arms were shaking, but I just assumed it was from the vibration of the motor. Sort of like if you spend a lot of time on a boat, it feels really weird to walk on land afterward? I thought it was something like that.
Later that night I went to dinner with Kris, and I had to use two hands to lift a glass of water from the table to my mouth. I would try to lift it with one hand, but I would shake so badly that I thought I was going to drop the glass. Hmm. Maybe it’s just me, but something seemed sort of wrong about that.
Today, my arms are so sore that I can barely lift anything. I went to get a carton of milk out of the fridge this morning and promptly dropped it on the floor. I was using both hands, and it was only a two-quart container, not a gallon. (And do you know how far milk can splatter? It’s insane.)
Of course, I keep giggling at the thought that my arms are sore from the vibration of whacking for three hours yesterday. Which really makes it all worthwhile. Except, ouch.