I have the sinking feeling that I've taken my first step down a very slippery slope. You see, as the result of my genetic makeup,I have an innate (obsessive? dangerous?) attraction to a certain type of substance. This is a deeply addictive and potentially dangerous type of substance, which might best be described in general terms as mastic, and includes things like Duct tape, JB Weld, hot glue, spray adhesive, glue impregnated twine, drywall mud, etc. In my youth I (rightly!) thought my elders were fucking weird, largely as a result of their (over)zealous DIYishness. It turns out, though, that purchasing a house activates latent Macgyverity to whatever degree with which one is genetically predisposed. In my case, that is a large degree.
Thus far, in my tenure as a homeowner, I have studiously (and frequently at great personal angst) avoided any contact with quick setting concrete products, based on the certain knowledge that I am not a girl who knows when to say when. In recent weeks, however, several unfortunate situations have colluded in the service of weakening my resistance. It all began on our most recent trip to Mexico. My brother, whom we shall call NASCARDAD, Jr., is absolutely correct in his assertion that that parched brown land south of the border is a Deeply Dangerous Place...more dangerous than he knows, I'll venture, but he's entirely off the mark in his reasoning. You see, NASCARDAD, Jr. believes that at any given moment, while traveling in MX, one is about as likely to be kidnapped by ARMED COMMUNIST BANDITOS, as one is to be, say, harangued by a half-naked child pimping Chicklets. I submit to you, gentle reader, however, that kidnapping may well be a fate preferable to the intoxication with that most Mexican of substances - Quikrete. Ohsure, call it development, or improvement or beautification - you call it whatever you damned like - I know better. It seems harmless and innocent at first. The nice hombre is expressing his pride of place - filling in a few cracks with that sticky ambrosia-for-the-abode, just touching up a patio, is all...look here, amigo, we can pour ourselves a fountain...down the slope we go.
Upon our return from those cactus-infested hinterlands that we call our abode-away-from-the-ghetto, our dear drunken friend nearly killed himself when he had the audacity to lose his balance on our porch and grab for the iron railing. This fucking inebriate knows good and goddamned well that that railing is purely ornamental and held on only by duct tape and zip ties, the inconsiderate bastard! Bunny was forced to show his superheroism and drag the drunk from the depths of the abyss at the very last moment. I was forced to reckon with nightmares about personal injury litigation. Neither of us care for these activities, so I had to develop a plan to repair the railing. After considerable gnashing of teeth, I concluded that there was no way to re-set iron into concrete without using the dreaded Quick Setting Concrete Product. This can not end well...
Happily, the repair of the railing is going along quite well and I've finished the parts requiring the use of The Substance. However, it should be noted that there are 59 pounds of Quick Setting Concrete Product remaining in the bag, and I just noticed a few places on the patio that could use a touch up, and wouldn't a fountain look nice in that corner near the garage...
