So we’re engaging in yet more Home Improvement. Recently our sidingwallah Kenny replaced the elderly sliding glass door. This is the same door upon which I had attempted to peel my own fingernails off more than once, opening it for the spindly-armed children, because it was so elderly that it declined to slide open and closed easily but did so only under duress. I know the feeling.
He replaced it with a window, and in the coming weeks will be finishing the wall beneath the new window and installing the trim around the window and the fancy new French doors that replaced the other sliding glass door. It’s looking a little rough around the edges but it’ll get there eventually. So we keep telling ourselves.
The new window and wall beneath it gave rise to a brisk round of furniture-rearranging. Although there was really nothing stopping us from blocking one of the doors with the table, there is just something about having a door that says PUT NO FURNITURE HERE even if you have another door a mere five feet to the left. But, even a framed and plywooded suggestion of a wall changes the way you see the space around you, and we were suddenly free to put the table along this rudimentary wall in a way that we weren’t the day before.
Obviously we had to get a bit carried away with the whole thing and it wasn’t long before we came to the conclusion that removing the laundry room door would be nothing less than a stroke of sheer architectural brilliance. We never close it because the pets enter and exit the home through the laundry-room pet door, which can be secured if necessary, and furthermore the cats’ food dishes are on top of the dryer. Our Hermione would have a stroke if we impeded her access to the food dishes.
So, we merrily set about to free the door from its hinges. I held it in place while The Lovely Rhonda tapped a screwdriver up into the hinges, one by one, with a hammer to free up the hinge-pins.
All went swimmingly until the final hinge, the bottom one. It was difficult to swing the hammer even a bit in such a cramped space, and awkward to hold the screwdriver in place. TLR was on her knees struggling with this and suddenly she jumped back and clasped her hand to her chin. I was sent to fetch a dishtowel. There was a certain amount of blood.
It turns out that it might not be the safest idea to tap a screwdriver into a hinge at the bottom of a door, unless you have a great deal of insurance or perhaps a death wish. The screwdriver had slipped and gouged TLR in the chin. It takes a certain amount of force to drive a screwdriver into your lip hard enough to cut nearly through it. Sufficient force to create a pretty decent fat lip, for one.
So what with the unsettling way the wound had of gaping and bleeding when she moved her mouth at all, we decided to get it looked at down at the local hospital. I figured this was the best way to handle it since
the chances of her keeping her mouth shut were slim to none it was on her face and might scar. We thought they might stitch it but instead they used “Dermabond” which is hospital-talk for “hideously expensive SuperGlue.” That and couple of steri-strips and she was on her way.
She now has a mild speech impediment (“maybe they’ll put a couple of sssstishes in it”) and cannot lick her lower lip, bite her fingernails, or eat pizza without a knife and fork, but all will be back to normal in a few days.
After we got home I quietly removed the door and placed it in the garage. I was extra cautious. The door has tasted blood and can no longer be trusted.