I told you a little while ago that my concrete steps leading up to the house look like Chernobyl. They have been crumbling apart for years. They are as old as the Titanic. I can still smell the paint.
So I called a concrete contractor who showed up and was like "I can fix those for you and it only costs twelve million dollars and half your virtue" and I was like "MY VIRTUE IS PROBABLY PRICELESS."
Speaking of virtue, Meg recently taught me a new phrase:
The point is, stuff be going on at Meg's Twitter and I don't always know how to feel about it.
I told the concrete contractor to come and take advantage of me because I'm very rich and gullible and know nothing about concrete. He could have said the project cost $50 or $50,000 and either way I would have been like "yeah, that makes sense."
So he showed up on Monday at I want to say 2:00 AM so you won't judge me for the fact that he woke me up by ringing the doorbell at more like 8:30. I wandered out into my front yard, basically in my PJs--booty shorts and the seashell bra Ariel wore before she got legs--yawning and not totally sure what was happening yet.
Contractor man told me they were going to get started. I asked zero questions, got ready for work, and drove off just as they were measuring something and pulling traffic cones out of the GIANT semi truck they had parked on my narrow street.
I guess I hadn't really contemplated how big of a project and how massive of a mess it is to completely tear out concrete steps, concrete flatwork, and part of a thick retaining wall in the middle of someone's front yard.
When I left that morning, my yard looked like this:
When I got back, my yard looked like this:
See how those things are different?
I started having panic attacks when I looked at the uprooted bushes I have babied for several years but Meg swears everything is going to be fine and I always just believe everything Meg says no matter what ever.
The work is supposed to be done this week.
I've been having very awkward and regular interactions with the contractor, 100% of which are 100% my fault. I don't know what's happening to my game but I keep trying to make jokes that sort of make sense in my head but then they come out and I sound like a psychopath. So far I have said the following things to this gruff professional stranger who has to spend a week at my house:
"Looks like you dug a pretty big hole today. I hope you didn't find any dead bodies or poop."
Contractor: I'm going to demolish your concrete this morning so it's going to get pretty noisy.
Eli: Ok, I'll bring the babies in from the car so you don't wake them.
Contractor: The old concrete was in pretty bad shape. The entire underside was just a rocky bottom.
Eli: Rocky bottom? That's what they called me in high school!
Contractor: Could you move your car?
Eli: Why? Is there a baby under it?!
The point is, he probably won't add me on Facebook when this is all over.
~It Just Gets Stranger