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Whee! We’re Contractor Free!

The dining room floor is now a glistening, poly-coated, wall-to-wall, richly hued parquet glass sheet. Other than the backyard lawn (and shelves in the new shed)–which is all on my head–everything is finally, mercifully finished. By the end of today I’ll have all the furniture moved back into the dining room; square away the kitchen and living room (which have been damn near useless while piled up with the dining room stuff), and it’ll all be over.

Friday the main contractor comes back and we have our final reckoning. If patterns hold true, he’ll say we owe him for “A, B, C.” I will counter with “No, you owe ME for NOT doing “C, D, and E”… Skippy.”

We laugh, shake hands, and call it a day. Well, that’s how I wanna see it happen. It’s ultimately his call.

If not, I excuse myself from the room, I release the hounds, and fetch Bertha Mossberg. BootzDog stands, barking in horror, as the nice man who slipped him biscuits the past five weeks gets treated as such by his deranged older brothers, who were just brought home today (and are none too happy with yours truly for being banished during the homestead’s re-hab, but will love me again when they learn “When yard lights go on equals KILL WHATEVER MOVES” No more ‘hold and wait’ ). Daddy returns and makes the big “chik-chik” sound that the monsters have no problem with hearing, but makes Bootz head straight for anywhere else before the big silver stick goes “boom.”

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