Domesticity: Drilling Rods

Yesterday I opened my apartment door to Becca holding up a drill, pressing the trigger intermittently to make that whirring drill noise. Aha! Finally time to put up my curtain rod.

It turned into a comedy of errors, as it seemingly always does when Becca and I try to do something domestic (see: moving/carrying heavy things in general, cooking pancakes, taking apart a desk, putting snow chains on tires, etc.). Cut to a scene of: me on a chair, with Becca holding up the bracket, trying to drill in a screw while nearly falling out the screen-less window to my death.

WHY were my walls SO HARD to drill into? I must've had like concrete walls or something!

Upon closer examination: the drill was turning the wrong direction. You know, the UN-screwing direction. So, switched 'er up, and began the process over again, with much more success. Until the drill started whirring slower... and slower... and died. Then we examined the battery pack trying to figure out how to plug it into the wall to re-charge it. But wait! You actually had to have an additional part to charge the battery, so Becca and I began the three-block trek back to her apartment (while a thunderstorm raged overhead, but that's beside the point).

And then I decided, screw it, and watched the Top Chef finale and drank some wine.

But when I got home after 11, even though I'm low on sleep and was sort of tipsy and really should've gone to bed, I decided I really wanted to get that goddamn curtain rod up. Me, standing on furniture, a little bit wine-buzzed, brandishing a drill... yeah. Not a good idea. But at least I have pretty windows now!