"We're taking the truck."

"Why?"

"Because we're going to the Habitat for Humanity Restore. Why on earth would we not take the truck?"

Example #8,499 of Me Being Right

Beloved had a Groupon for the Habitat for Humanity Restore. That sentence alone is some crazy shit. Charities are on Groupon now? The premise is pretty much like Goodwill -- people donate stuff and they sell it and give all the proceeds to Habitat for Humanity. It's a giant junkyard -- nothing has been shined up unless it arrived that way -- and I am so totally going back to get some wood blinds as soon as I measure my windows.

While I was waiting for a huge cart (not a cart, more of what in Iowa we would call a lowboy), I spotted one of the workers putting a price tag on a sink.

A stainless steel sink.

With all of its hardware attached.

I let it sit on the ground for approximately FIVE SECONDS, because it was $40 and my old cast iron sink looks like this:

It's chipped. It's beige. It defies cleaning products. And it stinks.

I was wheeling this baby over when I heard my name being called. I looked around to see Beloved standing protectively over a Bosch dishwasher with stainless steel innards. It's beige, not white like I wish, but the old one threw ground-up bits of disgusting all over my dishes and looked like this:

New dishwasher  = $35.

So then Beloved walked over to the TV section and grabbed himself a huge TV for the garage for $15. We walked to the checkout. I pulled out the Groupon.

A woman approached me with something like rage in her eyes.

"Are you sure you want those?" she asked, eyeing my dishwasher and sink.

"Yes."

"Are you sure you're sure?"

"Yes."

Man, people.

So I hand the cashier the Groupon. It's $19 for $50 worth of stuff. Our grand total is $90.

Beloved piped up, ever the negotiator. He's like William Shatner, that boy.

"Can you cut us a deal?"

She eyed our stuff, eyed the Groupon.

"$27.50."

My mouth fell open. So we already paid $19 for the Groupon and another $27.50 is, um, $46.50 for a perfectly fine and functioning stainless steel sink, dishwasher and television?

As we were pushing our lowboy out to the truck -- YES, THE TRUCK! WE SHOULD TAKE THE TRUCK! -- two different people stopped me and congratulated me on my find. It may have been the shit-eating grin on my face.

It only took poor Beloved three trips to the hardware store and six hours to install them both. There was that moment where I had to borrow a large pipe wrench from a neighbor whom I've met once, but don't worry, I gave him two Summer Shandys for his trouble. Oh, and it might have been 110 degrees outside.

He loves me. He hates me. He loves me. He's handy!

But it's in, it's done, and it's so pretty.

Only countertops, cabinets, floor, dining room table and window treatments to go!

Thank you, baby.

Over the past two weekends, I've pulled off the last of the country rose wallpaper in our kitchen. It's gone. All of it. Gone, gone, gone. Even though we're planning to take down the soffits eventually, I don't know what "eventually" means. For us, "eventually" can mean "two days from now" or it can mean "before the little angel graduates from high school." So I painted them anyway. And the kitchen ceiling.

When it was all said and done, the kitchen went from "heinously ugly" to "needs updating." And just like that, some iceberg fell off my psyche and drifted away.

Then it started snowing on the first day of spring break, and I didn't even care.

Huh.

Editor's Note: I don't have pictures. I seem to have chosen the busiest week of 2011 at work in which to conduct this home improvement, hence my recent radio silence. 'Cuz that's how I roll. Updates to come!