Frustration

See this?














To the untrained eye, this might appear to be a sweet little doggie. (The one dressed as a bumblebee is the dog. The one in the penguin pants is my husband. Yes, we always dress like this around the house. Why do you ask?)

Do not be fooled. It is a feral MONSTER who insists on repeatedly ramming his head into my spinning wheel every time I try to use it. Because new things must be headbutted. Constantly.

I didn't make this rule, and I don't understand it. I just do what the dog tells me.

We have a guest bedroom, but we had taken the door off the hinges and hidden it in the garage. Why, you ask? Because my father, rest his soul, had painted it fluorescent magenta. Trust me, it was easier to hide the door than just paint it. You can't imagine how many coats of kilz it is going to take to cover that throbbing neon color. "Why don't you have a door there?" people sometimes ask us. "Oh, someone stole it," we say, rather than admit the painful magenta truth.

However, to solve the wheel-butting issue, I had this bright idea that I would go to the hardware store after work today and buy new hinge pins (because, for some reason, we discarded these), hang the door back in its place and then I would have a nice, closed-off place to use my spinning wheel. Guests to our home are usually announced, so if we're expecting anyone I figure I can just unhinge the door and stash it in the garage again, under a tarp in case anyone goes snooping around.

This was a fine plan. Except, after I got home from shopping I realized that I had purchased bookcases, not hinge pins.

The bookcases, once assembled, will be a fine addition to the guest bedroom. They are not hinge pins, but they are NEW. Newer than the spinning wheel. So perhaps I can set them up and the dog will headbutt them instead of my wheel while I am trying to use it.