When my husband decided to clean the fridge, I foresaw doom. Not that I’m clairvoyant or anything, I just know the man. Cough, Jeep incident, cough.
I tried to stop him but he gets a little stubborn about certain things. Next thing I knew, every item from the fridge was on the granite counter and he was scrubbing at one of the shelves. Hubby wasn’t satisfied with the level of cleanliness he had attained, so he pulled the glass shelf from its plastic cover.
Turns out, glass and granite do not like each other. As in, do not drop a glass shelf on a granite counter. Granite wins every time.
With a soft crack, the glass shelf broke into about a million pieces that, thanks to our open-concept house, scattered everywhere, the kitchen, the dining room, living room and hallway.
First things first, I got our two doggies and their vulnerable paws into my office away from the dangerous glass. Then, while my hubby ran through his entire repertoire of British curse words, I closed the door and planned murder.
Cleaning glass is not fun. It doesn’t clean up easily or well. Hours later, there were still pieces hiding in the grout between tiles, in the cracks by the wall, under furniture. Everywhere. Out came the wet vac, then hubby mopped, then I crawled on my hands and knees looking for any leftover, little shards that would hurt doggie paws.
But, when you’re a writer…revenge is sweet. I told him he’d make a post on the blog. 😀