The Killer

In an attempt to be handy and save a little money, my husband and I have decided to take on yet another home improvement project. We are suckers for DIY. First, it was our little townhouse as young marrieds, where we gutted kitchens and bathrooms on our own. Then we tackled an entire unfinished basement, putting in our own dry wall (check that off as one and done…never to be repeated). Now we are looking to tackle refinishing and installing hard wood floors. I don't have asthma, but I feel like I need an inhaler just thinking about the task ahead.

In order to get us back in the swing of doing our own projects, we decided to make built-in bookshelves in our den. We could pay someone who knows what they're doing, or we could just wing it, risk life and limb, and do it ourselves. Of course, we opted for the latter. It was basically like this:

"I think it's time to do the built-ins."

"Okay, I will watch a YouTube video."

Fifteen minutes later, my husband was headed to the hardware store.

Surprisingly, we only walked away from building the structure with a few minor cuts and bruises. I thought for sure we would at least earn a hernia from lifting heavy shelves high above our heads and trying to shove them in place (where they repeatedly did not fit and had to be taken down and re-evaluated, aka sanded, cut or beat into submission). 

Now I have the job of priming the thing and the product is actually called Kilz. It's in the title, for crying out loud. My husband, thankfully, got the "odorless" one that still makes my nose burn slightly and my stomach queasy. It splashes all around like milk and I have rubbed my skin raw trying to get the vast amounts that have landed all over me OFF. Water and soap do not work well, despite the instructions on the can, which I made sure to read carefully. 

I fully expected my pupils to be different sizes by the end of the day. They are okay. It will be fine. The product did what it was supposed to. I just look like a construction worker who has never bothered to shower after a job, or a Jackson Pollock painting.