Sometimes a hole in the wall opens a gash in your heart. Nothing is worse than having an open wound in your home to remind you of the past.
No matter how much I rebuild, things pop up. This weekend was no different. I finally got my 50lb bag of rock salt after a week of delays.
No joke, 50lbs is flipping heavy. After shimmying the bag inside the front door, I pushed it to the hallway leading to my garage. I went to brace myself for the final leg, and pop, pow, I put a hole in the wall.
I would love to say it's because I'm a super strong ninja, but this hole was poorly fixed by the person who put it there years ago.
I was pissed, then sad after remembering how horrible it watching that hole get punched. Then, I was embarrassed. Not because it was my fault, but because once again I had to clean up the aftermath of someone else.
While I would typically call my BIL, he's on the injured reserves at the moment. I then wavered between the guy who fixed 3/4 of this house and my other faux hubbies. Ultimately, I made the call.
Now I will get a lovely lesson in drywall repair.
Infuriatingly yours…
G