Destruction Into Beauty

Jan 17, 2011 by winjaw

So we needed a new kitchen table. Nothing real fancy, just something we could use to eat on. In the kitchen. Hence, as astute readers will guess, my use of the descriptive term “kitchen table.”

Said proposed table should not be confused with The Most Precious Table, which when fully extended can seat 18. However, its apparent role is to be looked upon and fawned over. It is not to be used as a canvas for the Sons of Thunder to draw upon.

Anyway. Apparently when you go to a store that sells kitchen tables, there is some unwritten rule that many zeros must be added to the price. This is because they realize you need a table. To eat on. In the kitchen. And they are just going to hose you.

The Little Black Dress was rather disgusted with said prices, and left to consult The Most Sacred Box(es).

Upon emerging from her consultation with The Box, The Dress informed me we would utilize an old picnic table, add some wood and give it a “distressed” look.

Little did the Sons realize their involvement with this little project.  

Now the picnic table in question was bought by the LBD for a song. In fact, the guy threw in a little wooden bridge and a couple of wooden chairs. She is quite the bargain-finder. At least in some areas.

Problem was the table wasn’t long enough; and it was rounded on the ends. And, as will become apparent soon enough, the boards used at the table top part were about one-inch apart. In other words, there was a one-inch gap between the boards.  As I said, this becomes important.

So the LBD went off to her favorite hardware store and brought back the absolutely worse wood she could find. The type you might use to build a dog house with, if you didn’t like your dog.

I was sent off to get very specific nails. I later learned these were called masonry nails and basically look like small spikes with rectangular heads. Of course the ones I brought back were not big enough for The Dress, nor were they the exact color she wanted.

So she left to get them herself, muttering something about “if you need a job done ….”

So she comes back and we proceed to lay the planks on the picnic table. And I have to use a drill to start a hole because the spikes she brought back will just split the wood in half.

And the first of the problems emerge.  The Dress has placed the spikes exactly where she wants them. A very nice pattern I might add.

Remember those gaps? Yes, well the nails/spikes can’t go where she wants them to because of the gaps – the spikes will just go right through those gaps.

And of course I get the “well, how are you going to fix it because I put the nails where I put them for a reason” stare and I do my best, but, well, face it, I can’t move the gaps. So I do the best I can, which apparently is just at the satisfactory level for The Dress. Just.
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Once we have the boards nailed down, the LBD calls in the Sons of Thunder, along with about three of their friends.

“I need you all to distress this table,” she says.

Blank stares.

“Beat it up,” I say.

More blank stares. This time the kind of stare that says “if you think I’m going to touch mom’s table after the incident with The Most Sacred Table, you’re nuts.”

The Dress, not to be denied, takes a hammer and slams it into the table top. “Like this,” she says, handing each boy a hammer or chain or hatchet or other similar type medieval instrument.

It was kind of like the first time you get contacts. All your life you’re told never, ever put anything in your eye. And then one day the eye doctor hands you this big hulking piece of plastic and says “stick this in your eye.” It takes a little adjustment.

After a few timid taps, the Sons and friends finally get the hang of it. That might be in part because things were going so slow, I just brought out a big chainsaw and let it rip right down the middle.

The number of “wows,” “cools” and “rads” was, well, priceless.

And the Sons and their friends went at that poor table top with a zealousness seen only when they get new cheat codes for some game.

Finally The Dress was satisfied, and proceed to have me sand down the table. And then she stained it with some special designer stain.

And about that time I make “the comment.” Said comment went something along the lines of isn’t it ironic how we spend so much time and effort to make a table look really old and then turn around and spend a gazillion dollars on products to make us look young? Or something like that.

And that went over really well, with a retort from the LBD that involved something about a horse, somebody’s rear-end and marrying beneath herself.

Anyway, we now have a kitchen table. We eat on it. In the kitchen. And The Dress is happy.