Grahm took me to Moore on his lunch break to get part of a Christmas present that I'm working on. I found a gem on Craigslist and needed my strong man to protect me just in case they turned out to be craaa-crazy murders. I'm being vague about "the item" because the project is for a reader. Yes you, mom. He dropped me off at the apt. with said item, and I was thrilled with it! I couldn't have been more chipper.
My hands were full when I tried to get our door open. This door has a tendency of getting stuck, and I often have to bump it with my bodacious hips. This hasn't really bothered me before. Today I gave the stubborn door a hearty kick, eager to get inside and set my things down.
Immediately following my kick, I heard a crash.
I wasn't too worried because it didn't sound terrible, just like something had fallen.
It took me .0005 milliseconds to figure out that the worst had happened.
The beautiful paper rose wreath I finished a few days ago and bragged to you about just two posts ago had fallen from the back of the door.
It laid on my ugly 70's carpet... in pieces.
Being the rational, calm person that I am... I instantly burst into tears. I called Grahm, crying and trying to explain to him what had happened through unintelligible sobs. He probably thought I was having a heart attack.
I'm not a pretty crier. Not only that, I'm not really understandable. I moan for a long time like I've just been shot. Then I start breathing really hard. This is followed by some high-pitch squeals that sound as though a squirrel is being strangled to death. And the ugly, messy process starts all over again.
Eventually, he got the gist of what happened. I sort of expected him to laugh... but he's a wise wise man and didn't. He knew how many man hours I put into this DUMB wreath.
I've tried hot glueing it back together. I've tried duct tape... thereby proving that no, it does NOT fix all things. I'm considering writing Hobby Lobby an intensely worded letter protesting that their styrofoam should be WAY more durable. I mean seriously... a two foot drop and it's busted??
My love for crafting is now under serious question. I obviously have attachment issues.
Now if you'll excuse, I'm off to grieve.