I came home the other night and noticed that someone (definitely Marlee) had pulled the towel bar out of the wall in our bathroom. Not completely out of the wall, but enough so that the drywall was bulging on one side. And, obviously, just enough to irritate the shit out of me.
Of course when I asked who'd done the deed (I only asked Marlee), nobody (Marlee) knew who the master of destruction had been.
Chris came home a few hours later and it wasn't long before I pointed out the new eyesore. Pissy? Quite!
Again, children were questioned (Marlee, just Marlee) and no one (Marlee) would confess. Several minutes into the interrogation, the culprit (MARLEE) cracked: "Aw-wite! Fine! I di'yit! But I was jusssss pyaying cyime da wallllll!"
Ugh!
Chris decided that it was an easy fix - remove the towel bar, patch the holes, re-drill into studs.
Have you met my husband? He doesn't fix. He maims.
"Babe, calm down. The grout has to dry before I can sand and paint it."
This is why we can't have nice things.
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