Murder on the Kitchen Floor
I am achier than Billy Ray Cyrus's breaky heart. My back hurts like that of my village's coalman in the 1970s and my knees are sorer than Monica Lewinsky’s (note to self – try to think of some more up-to-date references), but I have laid the kitchen floor.
All the kitchen furniture, including the fridge, is in the living room. There is still tacky glue everywhere so we have to wear plastic bags on our feet when we cook, and I’m fairly sure that the cooker is stuck fast to the floor, which will at least be a good excuse for never cleaning behind it again.
The biggest difficulty was that once I'd opened the adhesive and started spreading I had to finish the whole job there and then, so it wasn’t until 1:30am that I laid the last strip. Aching, I removed my sticky clothes and washed my hands, peeling huge wodges of tacky glue from my fingers and was just about to go to bed when I found a sticky problem. My DIY jeans had their knees ripped years ago, which meant that my bare knees were now completely covered with dried glue.
I’m quite a hairy man, and despite stoically not complaining about the back pain at anything less than three minute intervals all day it just hurt too much to pull the glue off. (Ladies - please don't bother trying to trump me with any “You don't know what pain is till you've had a bikini wax” stories. It is a well known medical fact that men's knees contain more nerve endings than women's loolahs.) I tried opening the freezer door and freezing it solid like chewing gum so I could chip it off, but other body parts were in danger of becoming brittle as well. There was only one more thing I could try...
And that, darling, is why you found me in the shower at 2am this morning shaving my legs.
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