This is the Dawning of...Well, You Know....

At 7:30 this morning The Hubster looked at me and said, "I believe I'm going to have those guys start working on the kitchen today."

Translated into WomanSpeak: You have 30 minutes to get yourself ready and empty seven years worth of accumulated culinary paraphernalia from the room in which you spend most of your life.

Niii-iiice.

The Brits have a word for dumbfounded that provides a bit more slapped-in-the-face oomph: "Gobsmacked." It's perfect. I was absolutely Gob-freaking-smacked.

When first we purchased Casa de los Animales Locos (in a schwank neighborhood we would have called it La Maison de Trop d'Animaux) The Hubster swore to some higher being that the first room we'd renovate was the kitchen. And then apparently muttered, in a voice inaudibe to me and the deity, "After the bedroom, and the half bath, and the full bath and the living room."

Now, I realize, that in other countries - hell, other parts of this country - my 1949 kitchen is a palace. It features electricity, hot and cold running water and...a roof. (That's about as nice as I can be). I did procure a new refrigerator a couple of years ago while TH was on his sickbed with 104 degree temperature. Through a feverish haze he saw two big men rolling in a new white appliance and then rolling out what had been his apartment fridge. Buh-bye.

I got the new washer and dryer earlier this year by calling him from the store and asking, "When, exactly, can we replace the tiny, squeaky Fisher-Price stackable washer and dryer parked in front of the kitchen window?" He replied, "When they go on sale, a Big Box has an interest-free special offer, and Jupiter aligns with Mars." As it happened, all three of those events were occurring, just then, as I stood in the appliance department of Lowe's. I had TH on speakerphone so there were witnesses. I even got a rebate from the manufacturer.

But THIS...this construction is blowing my mind.

I've told you that I cook - and cook pretty well. Elaborately, even. We entertain, I put up pickles and jam, I make dinner - from scratch - at least five nights each week, plus lunches on the weekend and reward The Hubster with baked goods on a fairly regular basis.

[INSERT SELF-CONGRATULATORY PAT ON BACK HERE].

For me to have accomplished all this - for seven years, mind you - in that kitchen is, in my mind, the equivalent of Fermi discovering fission in a maintenance shed, equipped with two blenders and a pair of clackers.

I am tickled to DEATH! Stay tuned.