My John. Part II.

In an act of solidarity , I decided I would be as timely in my blog postings as my handymen were in their destruction/repairing of my bathroom. That first day started out auspiciously enough, and Josef and his spry(er) young(er) help(er) did not give off the air of two elderly immigrants so beaten-down by the world that they would choose to spend two weeks crammed into my apartment. However, much like the two years I spent in love with my high school friend Kevin, whose shared love of show tunes and eventually, dick, would prove to be a "bad read" on my part, I was very, very wrong.

Vertical bathtubs- much better in theory than practice.

When I arrived home that first night, things didn't look promising. While relieved to find a decided lack of corpses in my apartment, my entire bathroom was gutted and had been relocated to my kitchen. Realizing the power these men held in their hands, I went out to purchase cookies and water, to hopefully win them over and expediate the process, and resigned myself to a not-so-fresh feeling the next day.

Yes, "Dogs Playing Poker". Like your Monet print is so much fucking classier.

The next few days passed in a blur of construction and dust-inhalation. While the idea of waking to a Polish man wandering my apt brought me back to VE Day, by Day 5, the romance was lost. Despite my almost worryingly inactive lifestyle, at two days sans showering, I get a little ripe, and I found myself relegated to using that ice-cold mystery shower that everyone has in their office building in case of chemical spills or CEO divorce. Between the fact that I hadn't washed my hair in four days and the fact that the act of showering at my office made me feel much like I had had a one-night stand with my job, I pretty much gave up on any sort of social life or activity that didn't involve sighing heavily while surveying my apartment.

That's actually just my nighttime skincare routine.

By Friday, my cookie budget was rivalling my income for the week, and with my bathroom sink still in the kitchen, I decided to starve the workmen into action. I got up early, confronted Josef, and laid down the law, which is difficult to do when the only common words you both know are "hello" and a questionably racist Polish term that your grandmother taught you. I'd like to think that my tone and body language themselves might have gotten the point across, but it would be another three days before I found myself able to leave out my birth control lying around.