Puerta Potty

For about three months there has been a new door laying across the floor in our sun porch which is right off the living room. That stupid door has been within my line of sight while I watched television, while I ate dinner, and while I sat sulking with a vodka drink in my hand figuring out ways to kill Mark. I have tripped over that thing, cursed it, and ignored it as much as possible. How did it get there? Mark wanted it. I told him that the door to his bathroom was fine. It was in good shape, fit the opening just right, and most of all, it was already there. Not good enough. Mark wanted a new door to go with his new shower, floor, and bathroom fixtures, so he went out to Home Depot and bought one. Yesterday I finally gave in, and put the damn thing up.

For some reason Mark thinks I am some kind of decent handy-man. I am not. Ask my tenants with the kitchen door that has a gap large enough for an iguana to crawl under. Check out the cabinet on Mark's bathroom wall that tilts ever so slightly to the left. No, I am not all that handy, and now in my sixty second year I am not all that keen to do that kind of work.

What was I to do, leave that door lay there until Christmas and put a bow on it for Mark? No, I was sick of looking at it, so I removed the old door that fit just right, the door that closed with a nice click, and replaced it with the door from the sun porch floor. The new door does work, it closes, and locks shut. But it leans in at the top just a tiny bit, and there is quite a gap along the latching side of it. At least it's out of my sight, and for the time being I have Mark off my back. It would be a shame if it jammed shut though, and Mark got stuck in there. Such a shame.