Grate. Just Grate.

Pardon me while I, er, "vent" for a moment.

While Nathan was disassembling one of the bookshelves, and carefully gauging the pressure of the peg holes with a tire gauge, Isaiah went through the house and removed the grates from all the vents. The better to fill them with rubber band balls and dish towels, you know.

Without realizing just why Isaiah had moved the kitchen island from its usual spot, I nudged it back into place so I could get to the sink. One wheel promptly fell into the gaping vent hole, tipping the entire unit to a precarious 45 degree angle. The doors swung open, spewing forth pots and pans. The drawer slipped out, littering the floor with cooking utensils. And everything sitting out on the surface tipped over. Like the open jar of olives.

And the dishsoap.

As I knelt there, struggling to right the capsizing island, the green gloop flowed straight through my hair into a puddle on the floor.

And there ought to be a punch line, but well... that’s just the kind of day it’s been.


Matthew said...

Oh!... Oh, oh oh.... I'm so sorry!

Destination...Gloryland! said...

Yep, things like this either make you laugh or cry...

Elena said...

both. both.