This week Dad and I are doing some work for a friend of his. She owns a two-story house that she bought with the intention of fixing up and re-selling for a nifty profit. She hired us at the beginning of the summer to do a little work, claiming her ASSISTANT would be doing the rest. Fast forward a few months when Dad and I are back, trying to fix the goofs all over the house brought on by THE ASSISTANT who claimed she "knew what she was doing."
She didn't. Just because you watch a marathon of HGTV on Saturday doesn't necessarily mean you can run out and do the exact same thing on Monday.
This morning Dad was on the roof painting and I was on the porch. THE ASSISTANT was inside doing the only thing we would let her do in the house: Clean heating vent covers. I have banned her from touching another paint brush, roller, hammer, screwdriver, spackling knife, or drywall compound.
Dad finished what he was painting on the roof and tossed one of the dropcloths from the roof onto the ground before climbing down himself. A few minutes later THE ASSISTANT came out of the house and pointed behind me.
"Is that a tarp?" she asked.
I turned and looked where she was pointing and saw the gray square dropcloth in the yard. "Yeah. That's a tarp."
"Oh. I thought your dad fell off the roof." She began to laugh and giggle annoyingly. I think she was trying to be cute and/or charming, but she had all the style and finesse of a rusty bedspring one might find in an alley behind an abandoned army surplus store.
"Yeah that's not my dad. It's a tarp."
Let me just say, I can understand if you see something fly past the window out of the corner of your eye how you might think Dad fell off the roof. But to wait a few minutes, come outside, and then point at the tarp and try to differentiate between the two...well...that's just dumbness.
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