I tried to strike a deal with the dog that she would just bite whosoever looks at the bookshelves too closely once they’re in the house but she’s all “Biting? But you can’t get belly rubs from people you bite!” Which just goes to show Mrs. Wigglebottom’s sore lack of knowledge of fetish communities. I don’t even have to look on the internet and I can guess there are whole groups devoted to giving belly rubs to people who bite you.
Anyway, the bookshelves look like they were stained in a horrible chemical accident. Seriously, like they will wake up this morning, look in the mirror, scream “NOooooo!” and then become super villains.
And they are all rough. They were smooth when the stain went on and now they are like “Oh, hi, let us stab you with our prickles,” which is also why I suspect they are about to become super villains.
Because I suck at staining. And I dumped varnish all over my hand last night and I tried to wash it off, but it wouldn’t come. So I was pissed and I wanted to punch my bookshelves, but they also were sticky and I didn’t want to stick to them. So the Butcher came home with our food and I tried to just eat dinner and feel sorry for my sticky self, but I was literally sticking to everything–the fork, the cardboard container the fried rice came in, the bits of papertowel which clung to me like I was the ass of that cartoon bear in the Charmin commercial, my can of Diet Dr Pepper, which I had to have the Butcher open for me, even my own fingers were stuck together.
And that’s when the Butcher informed me that vegetable oil would unstick me. And it did. And so I finished the bookshelves, which look terrible and are prickly, but I don’t even care, damn it. In a hundred years, let someone say “You know, I think if I sanded these in a way the person who stained these clearly was inept at, and then just painted them, they’d be very nice.”
I don’t even care.