This is Ted:
|Very Old Photo of Ted in Our Former Apartment|
So when Ted approached me with the plan to build us a new compost bin (we had some old, ugly, tacky, plastic one that the previous owners left here that was much too small) I was less than enthusiastic. But we made a deal - if he built the compost thing himself, I could purchase a new console table for the entryway AND a storage bench for the playroom I am trying to turn into a mudroom (more on that later). We shook on it,* and he went to work. This is what he had to start with:
|Compost Pile and Ugly, Inadequate, Plastic Bin|
Here is the area that he scoped out for the new compost bin, and then cleaned up so that he could start work:
Don't ask me what all those plastic containers are, maybe garbage cans? Can you tell I am a huge help around the house? Also, these photos may be leaving you with the impression that I was out there documenting this project and cheering Ted on. That's not true. I was inside on the computer drinking Diet Coke and my mother was outside being supportive and snapping photos while also watching the children. Yes, I am quite a catch in the wife department, I know.
Here's where Ted got real:
And then got real-er, and started laying down the "floor" of the bin. Luckily, he had some help. Or rather, "help."
Things progressed. Inside, things progressed too, as I switched from Diet Coke to wine. I did not have any help, though, and so was forced to drink the entire bottle myself. Ted, on the other hand, got even more help:
If you think this is boring to read about, imagine having to listen to the blow-by-blow account from Ted, who is a very thorough story-teller. Eventually, the bin got walls:
And a roof:
And finally, doors:
Now, all joking aside, I was very impressed with the fact that Ted was able to manage this feat of construction. I even felt a little bit bad for all the nasty comments I made about how he was never going to be able to do it. However. Just because something is built to house what is essentially a manure pile, as far as I can tell, does that mean that it has to be the color of manure? I mean, now I have a giant shitbox in my backyard. This does not make me happy. Granted, I was drunk enough that it took me two days to realize that I had a giant shitbox in my backyard, but once I did, I wasn't happy. You can tell from the chain-link prison fence behind the shitbox that I am VERY concerned with appearances, especially the appearance of my back yard. I gently suggested to Ted that perhaps we (he) could paint it dark green. To which he graciously agreed, and promised to buy new paint and take care of it right away. He really is too good for me. At least I know it.
*Clearly I should have gotten it in writing because Ted reneged on our agreement as soon as he opened the latest credit card bill, and said no fucking way were we buying anything, ever again, not even food and gas. Good times.