We’re renovating our kitchen. It’s taking what seems like a looong time (it’s really not but it feels like it is). And the kitchen renovation was our excuse for not unpacking a bunch of boxes that sat in our dining room and a corner of our kitchen from July until September when we finally got the project going. I now have a room in my house that is, seriously, acting as my kitchen/dining room/playroom that happens to be attached to our living room. My kids crawl under the table, dodging an old chandelier and dog gate, to get at a couple bins of toys. I’d attach a photo if I wasn’t too embarrassed by it. It’s just a charming space. Yuck.
It all sort of stopped being fun (and, therefore, in any way “funny”) a couple weeks back. Don’t get me wrong, my contractor is truly wonderful, his “people” are outstanding each and every one of them. But, they show up (as they should) at 7:30 every morning for the last five weeks or so and I work my day around dust and plastic wrap and make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on the surface of the bay window in my living room.
But then today, I met the plumber. Nice guy. Did a fabulous job. But the poor guy had a stutter. A stutter. As a plumber. I mean, seriously, think about this man’s day?! W-w-w-water. P-p-pipe. W-w-wet. K-k-kitchen.
Goodness.
And so, for a brief while in my most un-PC of moments, the kitchen renovation had become, in fact, a little funny.
Confessions of a Serial Swooper 
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