Well At Least the Swelling Should Go Down

I'm sure you're sick of me whining and complaining about the traumas of a massive remodel--you might recall that last Thursday I mentioned how the dry wall hangers took three days to finally arrive and do the job? Well on Thursday when they showed up to finish the job they got their come-uppence. I think we're even for all the irritation they've caused.

There were two of them, one was a large, hairy, bearded, chubby, Russian guy. Though I don't actually think he was Russian, for some reason one of the kids heard him talking--probably using words that were so colorful and foreign to their vocabulary they assumed he must be Russian-- and from that point on we called him the Russian.

And then there was his sidekick, Manuel. Actually, his name wasn't Manuel either it was Louis (as in the Spanish version of the name--he was Latino) and if you've ever seen Fawlty Towers on the BBC then you'll get an idea of why we called him Manuel.

When I say he was a sidekick I really mean he was a side - kick because the Russian guy who appeared to the be the boss of the outfit was constantly yelling at Manuel and telling him that he'd done something wrong and pretty much tearing him up verbally. The two of them were constantly at it, with Manuel screwing something up and the Russian cursing at him (luckily the kids were gone most of the day or they would have heard some more words that definitely were not Russian).

I did happen to notice at one point of rather close contact that Manuel's breath smelled strongly of something more potent than your average Coke which probably didn't help his sheet rock hanging abilities any. He'd obviously been drinking but you know with a boss like that I can't say that I blame him. I'd probably drink too.

Anyway, these two were my entertainment for the afternoon on Thursday as I sat blogging at our kitchen counter while they went from room to room patching and hanging the sheet rock, fighting all the way. The kids came home from school and began working on homework at the kitchen table when suddenly the quiet of my internet wanderings was interrupted by a loud Russian "AAAAGGGGHHHH!"

The Russian comes upstairs into the kitchen clutching his finger and says, "Dang! I cut my finger!"

I kind of stared at him for a second, wondering if Manuel had finally had enough and let him have it with a screw driver but then I realized I probably would have heard more noise if that had been the case so I said the only thing to say, "Uh, do you need a bandaid?"

"Yea, if you've got one," he said.

At this point Spencer (always ready to abandon his homework for humanitarian work) popped up from the table and said, "I'll get him a bandaid! I'll do it!" Then he ran upstairs to look for supplies.

As he streaked past I yelled, "Don't forget the Neosporin--he'll need some ointment!"

The Russian ran his finger under the water at the kitchen sink while Spencer was gone looking for the bandaid, all the while moaning, "Oh my finger! Oh my finger! I totally cut my finger!"

Apparently he'd been screwing in the sheet rock and he slipped, impaling his finger on a screw--though I did see the wound and was rather skeptical that his description of events was accurate. It didn't seem like all that much of a cut for a full-on impalement. I'm a mom, I know these things.

Well Spencer came down a minute or so later and gave the Russian a bandaid and a tube of ointment with which he'd soon doctored himself, his finger nicely wrapped up and goopy stuff oozing out the sides.

"Boy!" he said with enthusiasm, "This stuff really works--I've had ointment before but this stuff you can really feel working."

There was a pause as he stared at his finger then he said with slightly less enthusiasm, "Kinda burns."

I looked up from my computer at this point, a little confused and thinking, "I've had Neosporin before and I don't recall having it burn. That's odd. I guess maybe his finger really was cut worse than I thought."

Shrugging I went back to my work but then, as the Russian was heading upstairs I had a suddenly suspicion. Getting up I went to where the tube was lying on the kitchen counter and picking it up I read the label:

Preparation H.

Without a second's thought I yelled up the stairs, "Hey! Wait! That wasn't Neosporin--you've got Preparation H on your finger!" I grabbed a napkin to help him wipe it off before running out to get another bandaid and the real Neosporin. The Russian guy at this point was in a bit of a panic and began scrubbing at his finger as if he'd dipped it in Anthrax or something while I could hear Manuel keeling over in laughter in the background.

"What will that do? What's it gonna do to my finger?" the big guy said with a bit of girly fear in his voice, "Is it bad for it?"

"Oh it'll be fine," I said, watching him continue to scrub. I felt bad about the mistake but come on now man, pull yourself together. Didn't you notice the words on the tube before you squeezed it out? It's not like I gave you a tube of acid or anything. "And besides. I should think that from now you won't have to worry about getting any hemorrhoids on your finger."

He didn't find that funny--but Manuel did.

Just look on the bright side--at least there shouldn't be any swelling, right?

***

And on another less humorous note--it's official. Yup, the unthinkable has happened. It's snowed. Right on the date that they said it would--October 5th. And while I don't think it will stay it does count as "measurable." So Miriama, Kathryn, Motherboard and Andrea please email me at scribbit at gmail.com to claim your prize!


Sponsored by The Fine Art of Family--Fine quality heirloom jewelry by artist Monica Rich Kosann.

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