We've been continuing to work on the house. Mike has laid 5 tiles today with much trepidation. I, on the other hand, have done some demo, which I am very proud of. I cut the carpet and carpet pad out in front of the back door, where we're going to lay tile. Something so satisfying about cutting and ripping.
Then I ripped out the wood in front of the front door, where we're laying slate, with a cold chisel and a hammer. Yeah, I'm pretty cool. All I need is a tool belt and a boob job, and I'll be just like the lady carpenters on Extreme Home Makeover.
The only problem is that with each plank I ripped up, a fresh waft of something funktified drifted up to my nose. I told Mike, but he thought I was crazy. I told a neighbor who had dropped by, but he also couldn't smell it. Then I worried it was just the neighbor's feet I was smelling.
But after about 30 minutes, our home was definitely permeated with the aroma from the underlaying floor. At first I thought, "swamp." Then dog pee. Then dog booty. Then the feet of this guy I went to college with. Then vomit. (Since the flooding of our front room, in which our home smelled like a dead wet dog, we've gotten quite adept at pinpointing smells.) Once Mike finally was convinced it did smell, he took a big whiff and identified it as, "salsa in which the main ingredient is poop." Awesome.