Let's see, we've passed the 48-hour mark and my den is STILL TORN APART. I swear, Larry is trying to break me. "So," I said to him last night at dinner, "what's next?"
TRANSLATION: When are we (as in, YOU) putting that room back together?
"Well," said Larry, "I have to do a little research."
TRANSLATION: I'm not sure I know what I am doing yet.
"Research?" I asked.
TRANSLATION: WTF? Shouldn't you have done that BEFORE you trashed my favorite room?
"Why, yes, it's complicated," he explained patiently. "You can't just slap the insulation up or you risk mold problems down the road."
TRANSLATION: This will take way longer than I let on.
"So, um, should I call the electrician in the meantime?" I asked, trying to garner some reassuring indication of progress. "You know, for the ceiling fan and the extra outlets?"
TRANSLATION: Can we get moving on this?
"Oh, no, that's all done AFTER the insulation," said the man formerly known as my beloved.
"Okay, so when are we (YOU) putting up the insulation?"
TRANSLATION: Look, buddy, I need some sort of a timeline here.
"Well, first I have to [a lot of mumbo-jumbo about ceiling joists and Internet and wall sealants here]...and THEN we put up the insulation and THEN we call the electrician."
TRANSLATION: Not nearly soon enough.
Excuse me while I blow into this paper bag for a bit. No, I'm fine, really. Just because we have NO PLACE to put the Christmas tree and I am going to take an axe to the ugly IKEA computer cabinet that has been displaced into my living room and have I mentioned that I am STILL MENOPAUSAL?