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replaced the windows and upgraded the
insulation, the hundred-year-old building would be just as efficient as a new
one.
    The kitchen was just inside the door and had last been
redone in the sixties.  It was closed off and didn’t have much space to
move around or many cabinets, and as a result, very little counter space. 
It worked for him, but he didn’t want a kitchen functional for a single
man.  He wanted a kitchen big enough to feed a family. 
    He’d asked Gabbi for help figuring out the kind of kitchen
she’d want if it was her house.  She had been more than happy to put her
two cents in.  The actual dollar amount of her two cents could make a
grown man cry, but he’d learned long ago, women like their bathrooms and their
kitchens.  He needed to have as much going for him as possible when the
right woman came along, and if a big fancy expensive kitchen would help his
chances, so be it.
    He poured out the half inch of cold coffee left from this
morning and rinsed out the pot before filling it with fresh water to get
another batch going.  After replacing the soggy filter and used grounds
with fresh, he fired the maker up and headed back through the house to get set
up. 
    Even at nearly seven o’clock, the house was still bright on
account of him not putting up any curtains or blinds.  He figured he was
far enough away from any neighbors the chances of someone peeping inside were
pretty slim.
    He climbed the stairs, the sound of his heavy work boots as
they hit each bare wood riser echoing through the house.  The bathroom was
directly across from the top step with two empty bedrooms on the left and the
one he used on the right.  He flipped on the bathroom light switch, the
bare bulb dangling from the ceiling illuminating the windowless room. 
    The farmhouse had been poorly remodeled many times over its
hundred-plus years and the upstairs bathroom was no exception.  Improper
sealing and bad patch jobs allowed water to just soak into the standard drywall
somebody with less than no clue had hung around the shower.  He’d had to
gut the whole room, sub floor included.
    Ripping it down to the studs made it easier to re-plumb,
plus it gave him the chance to re-work the floor plan a little.  He
decided on a more modern concept with the shower and toilet at the back and a
double sink at the front, a door separating the two areas.  It would be
nice down the road when the kids he hoped to fill the house with could brush
their teeth and pee separately. 
    Those hypothetical kids were the same reason Gabbi talked
him out of the sleek, glass-door, walk-in shower he wanted.  Apparently
kids, unlike him, enjoyed taking baths.
    He was just getting ready to scoop a pile of mud out of the
five-gallon bucket in the middle of the room when the faint smell of coffee drifted
in.  He stomped back down the stairs and returned a few minutes later with
a travel mug full.  It only takes one time of getting a mouthful of coffee’d down drywall compound before you figure out a way
to keep the two separate.  
    He began skimming a thin coat down each seam, before gently
laying on a section of dampened tape and another thin coat of compound. 
It was a quiet, repetitive job and someone one with more practice could
probably bang it out no problem.  He wasn’t fast, but he was meticulous,
carefully covering each seam and nailhead with the
first of the three coats it would probably take.  If he hit it each night
this week, he might be able to get going on the tile this weekend.
    Almost each night at least.  He would be happily
skipping Wednesday, even if it put him behind where he wanted to be. That night
he was going to leave work early to celebrate and relax while he stuffed
himself silly with ribs and whatever else Gabbi made for Heath’s party. 
    He was mid-way down a seam on the wall when something
occurred to him, throwing his rhythm off and making a little gouge in the
mud. 
    “Damn.”  He reloaded his taping