My garage is a frigid, dank, wasteland these days. Dirty snow comes in from the cars, melts, plops on to the ground, and then refreezes out there. It's nasty.
I don't want to go out there. And you can't make me.
Consequently, I haven't gotten much in the way of building done. Daddy-o's feeling the same way. We're like,
"What you working on?"
"Nothing. Too cold."
"Yeah. Me too."
We are not wimps. Swear. Other winters, I've manned up and headed out.
It's just been too.darn.cold.
But then. . .
Ana came out with her Chalkboard Produce Crate! plans,
And I knew I had to have this for myself. Absolutely, 100% positive I had all the scraps out there (aw heck, probably enough scraps to make 20 out there but who's counting).
So I braved the frigid wasteland. Despite my wearing a coat and gloves, I was literally shaking out there.
Made all my cuts, pilot holes, and did my sanding,
as quickly as humanly possible,
and then took this totally pointless picture and hauled A back into the house with my scraps, 'cause I was about to lose my birdy fingers to amputation. And I need those.
And so I slopped on the wood glue and built inside the house. Let my snot-icicles thaw in the nostrils.
Leave it to me to totally slap this thing together and not even care. I mean, it's a crate, isn't it? Not a piece of furniture.
Dang, man. This thing holds a massive amount of fruit. Ain't no family eats this much fruit. Two words:
Ya know? I felt like all my other message spots around here needed a new bulletin, if you will.
Recall that my bathroom door is a chalkboard.
I believe it makes a simple, yet profound statement.
Don't expect that rating to go up at all. Kitchen morale's been kind of low.