Of all the gifts a boy could give a girl, one of the most romantic is his sweaty labour. Over the weekend I watched my friend tile my backsplash. If that sounds sexual, I don’t mean it to.
I wanted to help because I am trying to learn as many new things at this stage in my life as possible. This year I have learned to blog, change my oil, live through a messy reno, hand load bullets, drive a tractor and fit in entertaining again. So I figured tiling would add nicely to the very random list.
Tiles have a negative connotation in my family. When we were returning from living in Mexico for two years, my mom wanted to bring back several hundred heavy ceramic tiles to do our kitchen and laundry room back in Toronto. My dad said no – it would make the moving truck too heavy (?) She wore him down and 6 months later beside all the stockings on Christmas day was a lonely broken ceramic tile – left over from our reno- with black letters in upper case “MERRY CHRISTMAS JUDY. LOVE FRASER.” I am pretty sure that was her only gift from him. I looked at my mom, her lower lip quivering and my older brother shouted as he always did (and always a bit gleefully) “mom and dad are going to get a divorce“. Comfort and joy.
My new tile story was positive. I learned a bit but did not help very much. This was a most original gift. Better than tulips.
Did I just say that?