Space Cowboys, Nail Polish and New Tile

Let me tell you about the kind of house I grew up in.

It was spotless at all times.

It was well decorated.

There was a room that my mom would vacuum herself out of so there were no footprints on the carpet. We were not allowed to go into that room. That was for company.

Our bedrooms were to be kept clean at all times.

We all had assigned seating; at the dinner table and in the living room.

My mom decided that she was going to have the linoleum pulled up and tile put down in the entry way and the kitchen. She also had the kitchen counters and backsplash replaced with tiles, smaller in size and a different color of grout. The reason I remember this so well is on the day that the tile was to be installed, I was not in school and home alone with the “tile guys”; which is no big deal, except I was watching Wheel of Fortune and they didn’t really play by the house rules. See, because I couldn’t guess the puzzles as quickly as my mom and brother, we had to make a rule. The rule was you were not allowed to yell out the answer. You could yell out “I know it”, but not the answer. This would give me time to have all but three letters on the board so I could get it figured out. Well here I am minding my own business and the tile guy, who, quite frankly, should have been working, yelled out “Space Cowboy”, which ruined my chance of figuring it out. The Bastard.

But I digress.

So the tile was laid and the house looked beautiful.

The family was getting ready to go to an engagement party for one of the Van Winkle boys. All of us were cleaned and in our Sunday best. Since we weren’t leaving for a few minutes, I get the novel idea to paint my fingernails. I am walking down the hallway talking to my mom, which is not allowed, because she has a hearing problem and when you talk to her from another room, she can’t understand what you are saying she just knows you are saying something and you have to repeat yourself when you get in the room. But that didn’t stop me from attempting it every single time. As I cross the threshold of the hallway into the entryway on my way to the living room, the nail polish bottle flies out of my hand, hits the front door, shatters and splatters all over everything, including the brand new tile.

Did I tell you it was red?

Not just red, but bright red. The kind you might find on one of those women who hang out on the corners in Vegas red.

The next all happened within 3 seconds:

I stop talking and stop walking and just stand there staring at the mess.

My dad comes flying into the entry way prepared to kill me right where I stand.

My mom comes flying into the entry way to wedge herself between my dad and me certain she was my only hope of survival.

Jeff doesn’t move. Just observes from where he was.

My mom was able to get it cleaned up, all while wearing a winter white wool suit.

I was instructed to go to the bathroom and re-apply my makeup that I had just cried completely off.

Dad was instructed to go outside and breathe.

And Jeff?

He just looked at me and shook his head.