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You know on the remodeling shows, when the young couple with the helpful (and quiet and polite) children want to spend a fortune remodeling their bathroom, the perky host says something like “well, first we need to take out the old tile.” And it takes five minutes?

We’ve been at it for four. days. And they never look this hott:

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Today is “beat the hell out of an old bathtub with a sledge hammer” day.

You?

Update: the tub is gone. We’re hammering out the floor, now. Send motrin.

In one room, Julie Andrews is singing “Do-Re-Mi” with the kids.

In the next, “The Grudge” is just starting to claim it’s first victim.

No, I’m not talking about language.

I’m talking about my daughter. She’s probably somebody’s idea of a perfect wife (in twenty years or so):

She likes football.

She loves to get nekkid and run around the house. And the yard. And the street, come to think about it. Pretty much anywhere.

And one of her favorite activities is unloading the dishwasher, followed by doing laundry.

What’s not to like?

Oh, yeah: her dad can be a real asshole.

I just locked the kids out of the house.

Hopefully, I can finish the laundry, and perhaps clean the bathrooms, without worrying every thirty seconds if the dogs are going to get out the front door.