The End of the Conversation

Since we painted our master bathroom last autumn, I’ve been meaning to recaulk around the tub. It’s starting to break down and show its age. Not that the mold spores mind. They’ve found a good home and some tasty latex upon which to feast. But I’ve meant to recaulk this tub since about spring, but I haven’t had quite the stretch of time to devote to it. Several hours at least, non-stop, to devote to the project. How could I find the time, when Civilization III called?

But since I had a personal day on Christmas Eve, I had a long block of time available. Particularly since I could not leave the house until the FedEx truck delivered Heather’s Christmas gift (which is another story entirely). So I got into the bathroom and began removing the existing caulk. I think a previous owner just applied a layer of latex caulk over an existing layer of silicone caulk when it came time for him/her to do the deed. So it took me almost five hours of intermittent scraping, cursing, and swearing to get all of it off. Once I got the old caulk off, it was a breeze to apply a new ring of caulk.

So although I was reluctant to perform this much-needed household maintenance, I’m still proud to have done it. But why is it that the casual conversations end when people ask me how my holidays were and I answer:

“I spent Christmas Eve in the bathtub with a razor blade and wondered if I really wanted to go through with it.”

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