Sparky has been in hell. Honey-do hell. Let me tell you, Sparky avoids household projects as if they were the black plague. He is a master of manipulation when it comes to escaping situations that might include a screwdriver or preclude polishing. Try as he might, we spent the last week emptying our pantry/laundry room/I-don’t-know-where-to-put-it-so-I’ll-stuff-it-in-here room.
We emptied it because we needed more shelving to store all the crap that gets shoved in there. It was a freekin’ mess. The cats could barely find the litter box and all the cleaning supplies were falling off the shelves when the washer ran.
This all started because the washer leaked. I had to clean up the water-damaged hardwood and thus slyly started on this project that I’ve been planning for some time.
In America, we have this. It’s not unusual. When there is an appliance that uses water, there will be drips. Yes, I know putting a washing machine on a hardwood floor is not so smart, but it has been done successfully.
In trying to find a drip pan in Germany, the most common response is NOT, “Hmm. We don’t have that, but try this…”
It’s more of the “Why does your washer leak? Why don’t use get it fixed? Why is it on hardwood? Why didn’t you think to put it on tile?” variety.
Okay. Maybe I’m just being bitchy, but those questions do not help.
I finally settled on one of those plastic car-trunk protectors after ruling out birdcage bottoms and plastic storage container lids. It works. It’s not pretty, but it will do the job.
See, with Sparky and his magic powers to procrastinate, one has to work quietly. Once I removed stuff and left it on the counters, I figured that his OCD would kick in and he’d be so upset and he’d be chomping at the bit to go to Ikea.
But no, amazingly, he held out for almost a week. It wasn’t that his OCD deprived mind wasn’t going crazy by not polishing the surfaces; it was that he hates Ikea that much. It’s funny to watch him there. It’s like his Kryptonite. You can literally see his energy drain and his eyes glaze over. It only takes about five minutes before he comatose enough to agree to anything. If it weren’t for the cheap hotdogs, I would never get him to go.
So, not only did Sparky have to go to Ikea rather than to the gym, but the house was covered in this stuff for days. From cleaning supplies to candles and light bulbs and laundry and tools and all that stuff his mother has given us over the last three years that I have no idea how to use or if I even want to try and figure out.
I built the shelves and we spent one full day putting them in and adding extensions so as to take advantage of the 3-meter ceilings and spent the weekend sorting, tossing and putting everything away. The kitchen counter has been cleaned off and the only stuff left is the crap neither one of us knows what to do with. There’s a lot of storage space now. I even have a place for all the linens I brought with me (I can’t find 400-thread count sheets here. How barbaric!).
So, now that everything is said and done, I have one startling realization. I did all this work to make the room which holds all the cleaning supplies and washer and dryer more comfortable to be work in. I am currently in love with a cleaning supply room. Not a fabulous outfit or a pair of Manolo Blahnik Mary Janes, but a supply closet.
My mother would be so disappointed.