My floor is my life.
This week we answered the call. The call to tear out our floor and put in a new one ourselves. We should have told them it was a wrong number. First, we moved out of our bedroom. This was no big deal, I went to college – and so did my sisters. This has no relevance to my ability to move furniture (you would think that it would have taught me well enough so that I could pay someone else to do it for me). I only mention this because it gave me plenty of experience moving furniture: moving from home to the dorm, from the dorm to my first apartment, from my first apartment to a storage facility for the summer, from the storage facility to my second apartment – and on and on… Next came the fun part: pulling out the old floor. Carpet comes out really easily, but this is a fool’s paradise. What lays underneath is tack strips. If you live in Florida, this means that the tack strips are likely fastened down with nails driven into a concrete slab. If you don’t know anything about concrete let me tell you this, inch for inch it holds onto nails better than wood – a lot better. The first step in removing the tack strips involves prying up the wood strips. Nine times out of ten the nail head pulls down through the strip. The fun part is pulling out the nails. This involves a long pry bar and the weight of a full grown man. We applied the two in the obvious manner. The result is a suspenseful pause followed by a loud pop and a small, sharp projectile flying across the room. Actually laying down the new floor was kind of anticlimatic after flinging nails around the room.
We started on Friday night. It is Tuesday night. We are not finished with one room.
I don’t really have anything to add to that. Like I said, our floor has been our life.