Hammer Time

I want to be your sledgehammer
why don't you call my name
you'd better call the sledgehammer
put your mind at rest
I'm going to be-the sledgehammer
this can be my testimony
I'm your sledgehammer
let there be no doubt about it

We had been hoping that the re-tiling of the kitchen and laundry room would be all wrapped up by the time we got back from vacation.

In the words of Joan Cusack in Addams Family Values, "Aaaah-hahahahahaaa!!!"

You see, our handyman had no problem laying tile and, in fact, did get the kitchen part of the job done. But, as you may recall, he had severed a tendon on the back of his hand while sledgehammering the old tile off the concrete in the laundry room when he was only about halfway done. Since he's still wearing a cast, any additional whacking would be out of the question for another six weeks or so.

"Oh," said the Missus this morning with the air of one with her own spurs and someone else's horse, "If it's just a question of getting the rest of the old tile up, Robbo can do that for you. Can't you, dear?"

So now you know how I've spent my afternoon. And this after getting the lawn mown, trimmed and raked this morning.

For what it's worth, I'd never really understood how our handyman had managed to hurt himself to begin with. I now have a much healthier respect for the concept of shrapnel. When a sledge hammer hits ceramic tile glued to a cement floor, the tile transforms into a lot of very hard, very sharp and very fast bits. These proceed to fly about, karooming off of walls, doors and other objects, including the poor sap doing the hammering. Even with long pants, long shirt, gloves and boots on, I stopped several juicy ones.

Tomorrow, I have to go back with a hammer and chisel to get at the bits of tile glue still stuck to the concrete.

And, in the category of unintended consequences, the walls of the laundry room are now heavily dinged in several places, meaning yours truly will have to fill in the holes and paint them over.

Ah, the joys of home improvement.