In which the lady of the house becomes a "grouter."

Grouter... it does not exist in the English language, and I have not checked any others. However, I have become a "grouter."

The boss went off to work yesterday, having tiled the second third of the kitchen. At our age, it is a very painful process involving aching knees, back, sides... oh, hell everything aches when he tiles. He did a great job, then he had to go to work yesterday, so he asked if I could "grout" the tiles.  Sigh.... In a life long ago and about 150 KM away, I grouted. I even tiled a little, but I never thought in my old age I would get to do it again!  Oh, the joy!

So, there I was on my hands and knees with the grout, a bucket of warm water and a huge sponge. I read the grout container, having never seen one like it. In the long ago life, I had had to mix it; however, this one was ready made! Bliss. No instructions, though. So, being the "do it or die" woman I am, I found a meat scraper (yet another use for those little plastic leftovers from Hoechst!) and got down to work. I did what seemed logical to me... dab, dab, scrape... curse. I wasn't putting enough on the floor. Back to the drawing board. Blob, blob, scrape... better, much better. An hour and three buckets of dirty water later, I was done. I stood up and stretched. Agony! I don't remember any of those body parts! And they all hurt... individually! But the floor looked amazing. Really.

I did the same today on the last few tiles, and it looks great. The new stove comes on Friday; however, a dishwasher will have to wait for my saving account to look better. I did order it on sale from Sears, and they will deliver it once I have paid for it. I figure next month sometime. In the meantime, it's me and the sink.

By the way, doesn't everyone have their fridge in the hall?

Hopefully, by this time tomorrow, it will be back in the kitchen, in its rightful place. Erica says I should put it on the porch for that added touch of class. Probably not, methinks.