I was talking to my Dad last night, in a hospital nonetheless (neither of us were the patients, calm down), and I showed him some impressive cuts and bruises on my arm.
I've been working on the cat pee room in my house. That room is the attic bedroom that I eventually want to turn into a craft room. I tore up the nail strip that held the carpet down over the weekend.
Me and nails don't really mix well together. My arm and one of my knees took one for the team, and are cut up.
This conversation happened in the hospital last night:
Dad: Do you know what happens if you get an infection and you don't get a tetanus shot?
Me: No, actually I don't. What happens?
Dad: I don't know, but it won't be good. Get a tetanus shot.
I sometimes take Dad advice seriously. As he pointed out, even though I've cleaned that room, there's probably still remnants of cat urine and feces everywhere.
Better safe than sorry. I'm getting the shot later this morning.
Dad advice is usually good advice.
The tentative plan for that room, which will probably change, involves painting the walls this weekend and the floor the week after that.
After bruises, blood, and a tetanus shot, maybe that room will be ready for me to use in a couple of weeks.
It's progress!
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