We have a saying in our household – “Be careful, or we could end up living in a cardboard box, under a bridge like common trolls.” We use it when one or the other of us is about to do something stupid – something that could metaphorically blow up in our faces.
Yeah, so this week I wish I had used that saying a month ago when Andrew pressed the ‘order now’ button on our new kitchen. Well, life was ticking along nicely in Wales, some of the journey to the seventh circle of hell (AKA the remodelling of our house) was under our belts, we had a work plan – what could possibly go wrong.
Ah the innocence that was a month ago.
Fast forward to yesterday morning when I optimistically opened the front door expecting a delivery from Amazon, only to be confronted by the biggest van in the universe – ever!
“New kitchen,” said the driver.
“Uh?” said I, I am so eloquent at 8 in the morning.
“Your new kitchen, I need a signature,” said driver man, staring fixedly at my head full of rollers and avoiding eye contact. (I think he feared I had some kind of Medusa-like quality).
It was then, like a penny through treacle, that the realisation hit me that our new kitchen (which we were expecting to arrive in the middle of July) had arrived before we had even removed a door handle from the old one.
“Honey!!” I practically shrieked, “It’s for you.”
I then hid upstairs until the mayhem of fitting boxes, upon boxes of kitchen units and appliances into a house already stuffed full of crap had subsided.
I am still getting over the shock of the sight that met me when I came down the stairs, which now have two full lengths of kitchen units resting accusingly on them. Our downstairs has been turned into a labyrinth of cardboard boxes.
In order to get from the front door to the kitchen we have to: take a left at the integrated fridge freezer, hang a right at the larder, squeeze between a washing machine and a dishwasher then climb (and I do LITERALLY mean climb) over miscellaneous boxes all the while trying to avoid bashing our shins on random pieces of kitchen.
There is hope that Andrew, with his weird Tetris-like abilities (I swear fitting heaps of crap into small spaces is his super power) will be able to shove some of it into the conservatory. Until then I have an overwhelming urge to lay the work surface flat on the stairs and slide down it on a tea tray. Yes, despite the mayhem, my sense of humour seems to be intact – which is more than I can say for my shins.
Ironically, I feel as if I am indeed living in a cardboard box. Not sure about being a troll though, although I think the delivery driver may disagree – I think I truly traumatised him with my rollers.
I’ll keep you updated, until them I’m off to make a cup of tea so wish me luck!