Today, today we poured the concrete slab. It was slabby.
There was the obligatory run to town in the middle of it because we only had half the concrete we needed, and the usual feeling that I have coated all my sinus cavities in concrete dust because I can never remember to put on goddamned dust mask.
Other then that it went well.
Except for the part where I accidentally set a 94 pound bag of concrete down on my own foot. I know it was 94 pounds because it said so on the bag. Helpfully. In big block letters. I know you all think I am strong for a girl, and I am, but now I know my limits. It's 94 pounds. Specifically my right foot knows my limits.
The worst part was that I couldn't pull my foot out from under the bag of doom because I was afraid of ripping it and seeing my hard earned effort spill out all over the lawn. I had to call Scott over to help me, only to realize that the way I was standing meant that he couldn't help me at all which meant he got to stand there while I slowly heaved a bag of cement off my foot.
The other problem, which is a classic example of not thinking things through on my part, was that I put the leaky ass motherfucking hose uphill from me. Which of course turned mixer land into a clay mud mess that tried to both make me slip off my feet and also suck my shoes off.
As pours go this was a small one, but I still woke up extra early. Even though our hey lets go buy more supplies because we are bad at eyeballing quantity like that still meant we were working through part of the heat of the day.
But it's done now. And I resisted my urge to go draw penises in it or something equally juvenile. Only to discover that one of the cats had already tagged it with her gang sign while I was having lunch. Or at least I assume that was her gang sign.*
Bitch ass cat.
Anyway the sun is setting and I am tired and I still have cement gunk on my arms that showering and sink scrubbing and cursing the cruel hand of fate have yet to remove, so I am going to stop typing this shit and go scrub my arms some more.
Hey, do you think I could use the pot scrubber?
UPDATE: Yeah, have you ever tried washing your own arms off in the kitchen sink? I wouldn't recommend it.
*It was a perfect, neat paw print, made into the right side about as far as she could reach without having to actually step onto the stab. You can't convince me that wasn't deliberate.
Want more Rabbit Hutch Adventures? Or course you do Here's Part 4.
Confused? Here's Part 1.