Dum-dum does it again
/The previous owners thought it was just an awesome idea to screw a towel rack onto a piece of wood, and then screw that piece of wood into the sheetrock. Doesn't that just scream klassy decor? Don't you just want one for your own house? Well, in their decorating haste, they didn't use any drywall anchors and it fell off the wall every time anyone so much as touched the towel that hung from it. It was annoying, but on my seemingly endless list of rehab projects. I've already even bought the most adorable hooks to replace it.
(Shut up, Daniel. I know what you're thinking. And you're wrong. Hooks CAN be adorable).
Well, I went to prep that bathroom this week for painting. To my shock and horror, I was unable to pry that towel rack off the wall. I took all the screws out and it just would not budge. I yanked harder. I tried jimmying something behind it to pop it off. Nothing.
Well, it finally did come off. And this is what I found:
That big brown patch, my friends, is the sheetrock paper from the wall.
I immediately questioned The Husband as to WHY? WHY? WHY? he would glue that towel rack when he knew I'd be replacing it.
He didn't do it.
Well, then who did?
Our only thought is that our BRILLIANT contractor took it upon himself to glue the towel rack to the wall. He, who couldn't lift his hammer into the air without first increasing his already-padded invoice DECIDED TO DO SOMETHING ON HIS OWN. For free. I'm sure he sat in the basement and patted himself on his shirtless, sweaty back for doing such charitable service. Probably made him feel less guilty for over charging us on everything else he did.
So now we get the pleasure of re-mudding and patching a GIANT HOLE in the wall that should not be there. Would not be there. Were it not for the contractor I call Dum-Dum.
What's that you say? Call him up! Make him fix his mess! I would love to. But doing so would require that he step foot in my home (most likely hairy and shirtless) and I just can't bear the sight of that. EVER. AGAIN.
So pardon my cussing (still pining away for that R-rating). I'm so f#@% mad I could scream. But I can't. What with all the plaster dust I'm inhaling.
And I wouldn't recommend simultaneous cursing and inhaling. Makes for a very bad day, indeed.
