Save a dollar, lose your mind

Yesterday I had carpet installed in two rooms.  My daughter Coco says my house looks like a patchwork quilt.  I chose to ignore her.  Did I say judgmental things like that to my kids that they chose to ignore?

I made the decision to replace my tacky X-Acto knife cut (now frayed) carpeting with new carpet.  But first I needed to trim the uneven wood flooring strips transitioning from the self-contracted hardwood hall my son Hot Wheelz and I had laid over a year ago.  I wanted the wood floor to curve into the carpeting.  The handyman’s bid was outrageous, so I called in the big and cheap saws.  Cheap being the imperative word.  My daughter accompanied by the three grandkids brought over a RotoZip.  My brother came armed with a skill saw and a Dremel.  He owned the super duper set, including attachments to polish your teeth.  I supplied the blue painter’s tape to use as a guide for the straight cuts.  The end result — a less-than-perfect curve.  Probably could have prevented that one gouge had my grandson not jumped over my brother’s arm as he created a narrow grove with the Dremel to use as a path for the saw.  But close enough.

The real problem began the night before the carpet layers came.  My mom taught me to never pay for anything I could do myself.  Two days ago that translated to “move the furniture out of the rooms to save paying the big burly guys to come in and do it in half the time.”

The two rooms I’m referring to are the master bedroom (king size bed and flat screen TV) and family room (even bigger TV).  I like gadgets and electronics.  I just don’t like putting them together.  And cords are worse.  Truth is I can’t tell an HDMI cable from speaker cable.

My husband stands back.  He doesn’t want any part of the disassembling process.  I grabbed a box of old labels.  I mean old, like from the 70’s.  I can’t throw anything away.  I save thick blue rubber bands from heads of broccoli.

I jotted a “1” on each end of a 4×1 inch label, then tore it in two.  I wrapped the first half around a thick cord, and attached the corresponding number over the plug on the back of the TV.  I repeated this process twenty-three times, disconnecting the Blue Ray player, the cable box, and the tuner, leaving as many cords attached as possible.

Our marriage survived yet another hurdle — lifting and shooting dirty looks to each other while moving the 50” big screen television to the fireplace hearth, which is less than three feet away. 

We walked to the bedroom and repeated the process.  This TV needed to be moved to a spare room down the hall out of the way.  After moving the television, we each took our position at the ends of the really solid cherry stand.  I faced backwards.  What else would you expect?  My legs sort of straddled the narrow but heavy piece of furniture, making me appear older and very bowlegged.  When I said to my husband, “I look like a Chinaman shuffling backwards,” he laughed so hard he dropped his end.  (Sorry — no disrespect meant, but you had to get the visual.) 

Well, the carpet layers did their job.  Carpet now butts up against the wood floor.  Two hours of moving furniture out turned into five hours of moving goods back.  Now for the ominous TV’s.  We sat the large screen back on the glass stand, all polished and see-thru once again.  I sucked in my gut and squished behind the set.  Lo and behold, some of the numbers previously on plugs and cords lay scattered on the floor.  Seems one thing about using thirty year old labels, the adhesive is not so “perky.”

SPDIF had no meaning to me at all before last night.  What does SPDIF do?  Does anyone really know?  My husband wisely left the room.  The door bell rang.  I thought it was my daughter’s boyfriend.  When I answered it, two young men visiting from the church stood.  I invited them in.  Before they could ask if I’d read my scriptures, I asked them what they knew about electronics.  They were young.  I figured they had the gene.  On my suggestion, they snuggled in between the fireplace and the TV.

They rearranged some of the cables I had attached to where I had guessed they might have belonged.  I stuck in an old Disney DVD for testing.  A preview for The Incredibles aired, but strangely Elastigirl sounded like Sam Waterston.  “Your grief might seem a little more real had you not just admitted you cut off your wife’s head.”  (Maybe a premonition if I don’t quit trying to save money.)

“I think the audio,” I uttered, “is picking up Law and Order from the cable box.”  The young geniuses changed out a couple more plugs and Elastigirl claimed, in her own voice, “I am your wife! I’m the greatest good you are ever gonna get!”

I sent them on their way and promised to read my scriptures.

Related posts:

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2. Let me introduce you to my family
3. List for the doctor
4. The shortened version
5. What’s in your purse?