Jan, as usual during her school vacation days, stayed in bed and made a feeble attempt to say goodbye when I left. When I arrived at work, I pulled up my home e-mail and found that our bathroom contractor had left me a message the night before saying that he would start work on Tuesday ... tomorrow. And even though it was before 7:00, I called Jan to tell her the news and to let her know that we did need that exhaust fan after all. Supposedly it's village code, even though we're having the almost useless shower removed permanently, making our "three-quarters bath" into a roomier "half-bath". I guess the village fathers don't want us to have to endure the smell of our own shit when we use the facilities.
Before I go further, I should mention that we had taken the door down from the upstairs bathroom (the one not being torn to pieces) to paint yesterday, and although I figured we would get it back up eventually, I knew that Jan was uncomfortable with the door missing. After 35 years of marriage, the one thing that Jan still holds as taboo is going to the bathroom in front of me. And even though she's stopped screaming like a wounded banshee if I accidentally walk in on her on occasion, the whole idea one of us voiding in front of the other is still off the table as far as she's concerned. I must admit that I find this strange, as the cat's main morning staple is being let into the bathroom in the morning so she can watch Jan take a dump. I guess the cat and Jan have that "special" bond that I'll never be able to aspire to.
Anyway, if she's uncomfortable with the bathroom door missing with just me in the house, I knew she would be wasting no time in getting that sucker re-hung today if a boat load of strangers are coming in tomorrow.
And about 10:00 this morning, I received a phone call ...
Jan: Where's the third hinge to the bathroom door?
Me: Good morning to you to.
Jan: Never mind that. Where's the hinge?
Me: It's on the work bench with the other two hinges, dippo.
Jan: No it's not. Where is it?
Me: Oh shit ... I just remembered, I put it in my lunch sack this morning instead of a sandwich.
Jan: Very funny. Where's the hinge?
Me: I told you ....
Jan: And I told you, it's not there. (Silence .... sound of foot tapping)
Me: Well, what do you want me to do, leave work and come home to find the fucking hinge? Just go look again, and this time, take more than your usual 5 seconds to find something before you declare it officially AWOL.
Jan: Well, okay. But you better not have thrown it away. Bye.
Me: I love you too.
Thirty minutes later, she called back to tell me that the third hinge had been on the workbench, right beside it's other two buddies. But she swore it wasn't there before. I told her that it must have gone out to the garage for a smoke. I waited for the appreciative laugh, but it never came.
Christ, if she's this wired now, I can't wait 'til tomorrow when the wrecking crew shows up.
I wonder if Rexall sells Xanax over the counter.