Don't Hire Me To Sand Your Floors

As someone who was always a victim of "That's what she said" jokes, I am a little stressed out about the title. Is this a sexual innuendo and I didn't know it? Will people snicker at my naivety?

Deep musings aside, let's talk about the past week in the Ostler household. My parents had the genius idea of starting one of their dreaded "projects". Nothing makes me want to scamper away in a panic like my parents mentioning a little "project" that needs to be done around the house. It's not that I don't like to work...but it is. I mean, it's all fine and dandy if you have a set shift and you're getting paid and you go home afterwards. But house-projects are the exact opposite. You never know when it will actually be done, you don't get paid, and you live in the construction zone. 

This past week we have been re-doing the hardwood floors in the kitchen. Such an asinine job. (10 points to Hufflepuff for using such a boss word.) I would say that we were definitely in over our heads and we were all unpleasantly surprised by how intensive the "project" actually was. At first everyone was like, "hey! it's like camping up in here! woohoo!" but it quickly turned into "i am going to die from inhaling all of these paint fumes and no one will care."

It also didn't help that I was downright awful at everything. It's important to not let go of the sander while it's on because it will grind a giant divot into the floor. I also sanded over my fingers, cried because my poison oak flared up from all the dust, spilled stain everywhere, taped the edges all wrong, and ate all the good snacks. But I am good for things like high self-esteem and comedic relief, so I do have some worth. 

A silent cry for help that was drowned out by the screaming of five giant sanders.

My suggestion? Hire someone.