Work has finally begun on my floors.  This means that my toilet is in my shower stall, and my referigerator is in my living room.

I tried asking the guys how long my fridge would be in my living room.  They don’t speak English.

It’s pathetic how little Spanish I know after taking four years in high school.  The only phrase I can ever remember is Mi tío tiene una pluma.  Unfortunately, the fact of my uncle possessing a pen rarely has any bearing on whatever situation may be at hand, so this scintillating feat of linguistic dexterity does not suggest time well-spent for an hour a day, five days a week, from ages 14-18.

I tried to remember the days of the week in Spanish: ”Lunes, Martes, Miércoles...is Thursday Huevos?  I think so, but those are also eggs.  Huevos Rancheros. But why would they call them ‘Thursday Eggs’? Maybe it’s because once upon a time, it was customary to eat omelettes on Thursdays.”

Incidentally, the Spanish words for “Saturday” and “Sunday” would make a good name for an opera singer.  “My dear, get your hair done and put on your finest dress.  We’re going to the city plaza tonight to catch Sábado Domingo.”

Anyway, I finally said ”Jeuves?” And the guys nodded ”Si, si.” The thing is, a few days later, I’m sort of used to the refrigerator being in my living room.  It’s actually awesome.  I don’t have to get up to get a snack or a beer; I just reach across and snag it.  Why isn’t it always this way?

You might wonder: what about the recessed space in your kitchen where the refrigerator is actually supposed to go?  It won’t go to waste. I’m thinking I’m going to use it to build a pillow fort.

I should go into business as an interior designer.