You'll need to get to around the 8 minute mark for what I'm talking about...
Got the idea?
Yesterday Bill put down a second coat of polyurethane on the part of the floor he patched.
The patching took a lot of work and a lot of time and a lot of thought and a lot of figuring stuff out as he went along.
He took his time, because he didn't want to mess it up.
There was a lot of sawing and hammering and swearing and surprise and a bit of satisfaction in the job he did.
Here's how it looked (below picture) after the original patch job was done, including the wood putty.
After this was patched, he sanded it and applied the first coat of polyurethane and stain...let it all dry...and then, yesterday, which was Wednesday, he sanded it again and put down the second and final coat of poly and stain.
It looked gorgeous, it really did. Blended in perfectly with the rest of the floor...it was a sight to behold.
And behold it we did, as we emptied everything from the one bedroom in use.
Move a dresser...gaze lovingly at the floor...move a pine chest...gaze lovingly at the floor.
So of course, something evil fate awaited us all.
Pride goeth before Julia, who knew she wasn't supposed to go upstairs AT ALL, decided to go up there anyway while the rest of us were distracted with other things and then come back without saying a word. Bill went upstairs moments later, and I heard a strangled cry of anger and despair.
"SOMEONE WAS UP HERE!"
And he held up the proof: a single blade of grass. And he pointed out the disaster that had befallen. Bits of dust and a couple long blond strands of hair stuck in the polyurethane. And a footprint.
And he sommoned Julia to the top of the stairs, and he asked her, quietly, nicely, when (not if) she had come upstairs. And she, unsuspecting little girl that she was then, carefully inserted her head in the noose and said "I just wanted to lie down for a minute."
The hammer of Thor fell upon her. Thunder and lightening blocked out the sun (or would have, if the sun was visible) and hard rains fell. Animals hid, fish swam to the deepest parts of the oceans, and birds flew fast to escape the rage and destruction.
And Julia is basically in trouble til she's 37.
Because the wrath of a man is often a blind and deaf wrath. A wrath that does not listen to a wife's suggestion that maybe if you just wipe the surface carefully with mineral spirits, the gunk will come up and you can sand and reapply the poly.
Wrath does not hear such suggestions.
Wrath roars and beats its chest and looks around for trees to tear out of the ground and small villages to destroy.
Lacking the small village, Wrath will grab a screwdriver and gouge lines of rage across the flat and innocent, albeit a bit gunked-up, floorboards and then hurl the screwdriver (a flat head, if you're curious) to the floor and bellow "THERE!"
And then Wrath will stomp away, bellowing at anyone foolish enough to live in the same house and breathe the same air.
And then, later, Wrath got the mineral spirits and a little cloth and the gunk Julia had tracked in came right up.