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Sunday, February 8, 2015

Dummy Knobs

Dumb as a door knob.

“I have to stop in at Bunnings when we’re out shopping Pinky,” said Scotto yesterday morning.

I grunted my disapproval. I hate going to bloody Bunnings with all its dusty aisles full of boring rivets and screws.

“I need some dummy knobs,” he added.

“Isn’t that tautology?” I asked.

He rolled his eyes. You’re a dummy knob, Pinky.”

“No, you are,” I replied with the quick wit I’m renowned for.

We have to start fixing up our house since we’re putting it on the market later in the year.

The dummy knobs are for the lounge room doors which my five kids have gradually wrecked after thirteen years of careless yanking.

There’s a big crack in the upstairs hallway wall which Hagar and Jonah created many years ago during a particularly violent altercation over a mystery ten dollar note.

Of course the carpets all need replacing due to nail polish, paint and Macca’s coke spills; especially the one in the corner bedroom where a certain eighteen year old spewed all over the middle of the floor after celebrating his inaugural drinking birthday. No matter how hard I scrubbed the stain never came out and that was seven years ago.

The walls all need painting after a generation of fifty grubby, little fingers covered in Nutella then later mechanic’s grease, were smeared all over them. Not to mention the blu-tack stains dotting every centimetre; the result of Michael Jordan or Justin Bieber posters from days gone by.

Even the tops of the door frames are heavily soiled from when my young men grew bigger and would jump up to see how tall they were getting... every time they walked through them.

Each set of blinds in the house needs to be replaced since every single one was snapped after one of my baby bear cubs viciously pushed the other into the blind's vicinity during a fight over television channels, access to the only computer in the house, or whom stole the other's rubber thongs.

Three bedroom doors need to be restored; the constant slamming has almost ripped them from their hinges.

The wooden floors in the downstairs’ hallway need a re-polish after over a decade’s worth of scuffing basketball shoes, footy spikes and a gaggle of teenage girls in high heels on their way to a party.

Our grass is destroyed after Monday spaghetti nights when all five kids descend like fruit bats for a feed and park their cars on our front lawn. It’ll need re-turfing for sure.

There’s so much work to do.

And so many precious memories of a happy, growing family will be erased so that the house is sparkling and fresh; ready to welcome a new, young family, who’ll hopefully have as much fun as we did while wrecking it all over again.

How long have you lived in your current house? Would moving be a monumental effort for you too?

On a less sentimental note! Please check out my friend Lee-Anne Walker's new novel, "Eyes of Violet" on Pinky's Previews.

I'll be posting the first five chapters of Lee-Anne's enthralling novel each day this week.