How cute is our kitchen? Damn Cute. Damn Right, It's Cute. Ain't no Denyin' that Cute. Hell, Yeah....
Okay, now that I've gotten all that celebratory blaspheming out of my system, let's take a glance into the next room. Built (presumably) as a breakfast nook, this cramped alley of a room had earned itself the depressing-but-accurate nickname, The Crap Dumping Room.
This poor room. We had no idea what to do with it. Pardon the rotten photo. It's the only one I have.
All of the jam we've made, all of our home made wine, and all of our honey was piled in disgraceful heaps. Older houses have limited storage space. But let's face it, we looked like hoarders.
The other day, someone at work was throwing away a particularly disreputable work table. I grabbed it before it was chucked into the dumpster. I stripped off a layer of oily filth, metal shards and grimy paint. I primed and painted the table with the paint we've been using for all the trim in the kitchen.
I hauled the table home, and then Robb and I had quite a time getting it into the room.
We took the garden gate off its hinges. We stood the table up on end to get it through the back door. We wrassled it into the room.
And it looked terrible. The already tiny room looked cramped and horrible.
I took some measurements, and realized that the table could be spun around. But the actual spinning presented some problems. Robb and I had differing views on how to move the table into position. There were words. I seem to remember shouting "Damn it Robb! Why won't you listen to me? It's the God Damned Pythagorean Theorem!"
Three minutes later, after a bit of sulking and table-moving on my part, we were cracking up. Because, really, who invokes Pythagoras when squabbling over interior decorating?
We are such dorks.