in the words of the late, great tammy wynette - "i don’t want a play house"...

Ok... imagine a "playhouse" - you know... cute little pink gingerbready backyard playhouse. Got it? Now imagine one being constructed to comply with California earthquake-resistance building codes, and presided over by three snippy, argumentative perfectionists. In the rain. For four days. And you will have a tiny glimpse of the hell that has been my life for the past week.

And that's not even mentioning the SEVEN TRIPS to Home Depot, a.k.a. "The Store Where Time Stands Still."

And the thing about my wife's family is that NONE of them has a "pragmatic" bone in their body. They are ALL incapable of stepping back and looking at something and saying... "Hmmm... this isn’t going to get finished... let's come up with a Plan B to make the most of our time."

Oh no. Plan B? There is no Plan B. There is only stubbornness and stress and frustration and tantrums. Makes. Me. Crazy.

The house looks nice, though. Or it will... once we shingle it, paint it, install a door**, put railing around the porch, build some windows, screw down the deck boards, put down vinyl tile inside and carpet in the "loft"...

Getting the picture?

Dave

(** A "Dutch" door, of course.)