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Veronique de Turenne

Things fall apart

a trip to the doctor

I have a theory, one backed by so much empirical evidence, I've begun to speak of it as fact. Ready?

The moment, the very instant you start the demo phase of a remodeling project, the agents of chaos fly free and infect every corner of your life.

Above we have Exhibit F, the '49 Plymouth, dead as a doornail and headed to see Kelly at Malibu Auto, where it will sit in the shade of a sycamore while being returned to active duty. And in case you were wondering, yes, I do also have exhibits A through E, but fear that recounting them gives them power.

Need proof? I give you Exhibit H, in which I threw the ball to Jake who, his 120 pounds airborne, was clobbered by Maisie, very small but shockingly solid, and they knocked each other out and broke each others teeth and the vet bill, lord, the vet bill made be cry and the dogs are on antibiotics and I'm planning never to remodel again. Ever.

Well, until the new French doors arrive next week.

Next entry: Signs of Saturday: Size matters

More by Veronique de Turenne:
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