This morning, I got an email at work with the subject line "I broke the shower." I knew it was going to be a long day.
It turns out that in his early-morning stupor, Chris tripped in the shower and pulled the soap dish out of the wall. I'm picturing a destroyed wall needing feet of new tile, and yet another check going out to a deserving tradesman cleaning up our mess. As you can see above, it wasn't that bad. I was still ready to call our local tile guy to have the dumb thing fixed. But Chris, my wonderful and resourceful husband-to-be, said, "Don't we still have that tile stuff from when they re-did the shower?"
We did. And while I walked the dog, Chris re-mortared the soap dish into the shower. A small feat for some, but the little things that don't require the checkbook around here seem huge. A photo montage of the night's revels below:
Why is the soap dish in the tub? Maybe we do need one of those rubber bathtub lines for old people...
If you can't call him handsome, you can at least call him handy. And messy.
This is Chris reading the directions on the mortar AFTER using it. Sometimes, I swear he exists to give female comediennes material. "Come on, ladies, why doesn't your man read the directions?" Hey, at least it's done!
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