Whose stupid idea was this anyway?

Okay, whose big idea was this ceramic tile thing?
This question burned in me (or was it the pain in my flattened knee caps) late Sunday night as I was hunched over for the third hour on the floor in the bedroom painting grout lines with sealer and using a paint brush meant for a Hobbit—for the second night in a row.
Sure, the instructions on the bottle read “Wait 40-50 minutes between coats,” but just what square footage were they referring to when they suggested sealing grout twice within an hour?
I can tell you this much—it wasn’t in here, Mr. Rocket Scientist, where at 9:30 p.m., with grout lines sealed about halfway around the room, 400 sq. ft. of ceramic tile was a really stupid idea!
But, being the juggernaut that I am, I managed to push the limits on knee pain and complete the work order. That process included crawling around under the bed, where the bottom line fit quite well given more than three feet of clearance.
Dogs’ legs, however, were a roadblock as they lay prone at all angles beneath the bedposts.
I must have magnets implanted somewhere on my body by aliens as the dogs never cease to be more than a couple of feet away from me at any given time, no matter where I am, and are a constant trip hazard.
However, being the Alpha leader with a soft heart, I just lifted a dog leg here and a dog leg there, sealing the grout as I went along.
“Whose stupid idea was this?” likely will be repeated over the coming days as I question the sanity of this family circus while looking in the window from the porch, where we’ve been relocated while tile and grout are applied in other living areas.
Fridge and food, microwave, plates, glasses, cutlery, just about everything but the kitchen sink is outside. Why? Because Pete is a “do-it-all-or-nothing” kind of guy (which, on some occasions, can be a lot of fun).
But in this case, it’s because some “Know-It-All” decided we should tile the kitchen and “great room” floors all at the same time.
So when I left for work yesterday morning, said floors were empty of everything, thanks to yours truly.
I am a machine, even after a hard day’s work at the office. The night before last (while husband was on midnight shift), I’d used all my powers to move furniture out and lift laminate flooring and underlay (bound for another location).
All things were rolling along as planned, and when Daughter #3 and I arrived home from work and school last night, hard-working man in knee pads was busy putting in the last few tiles that smacked of a job almost completed.
Once the tiles were placed, we were to eat and be merry outside for the next 24 hours and come in on winged feet only to visit the bathroom or go to bed.
Of course, we couldn’t have done this “tile fest” over the weekend when the temperature outside was an oven. No. Instead we had to wait until an evening forecast of 46 F (seven C) was in order.
“Whose stupid idea was this anyway?” surfaced quicker than we expected when trying to open canned vegetables with my fingernails.
The can opener was still inside the house isolated in “no-man’s land” on the kitchen counter, along with the thawed tray of chicken legs that was to be cooked on the barbecue for supper.
The smarty pants plan of “Mrs. Know-It-All” to have the kitchen and “great room” floors tiled is at serious risk of going down in the history books as “his idea.”

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