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My not so home improvement moment
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Home improvement is something I would never describe myself as being “good” at. Some people have a natural ability for transforming a room or even an entire dwelling from something worn and dull into something bright and beautiful. I admire those types of people. I even envy them to an extent because I’ve never been of that sensibility; I’ve never had the eye or hand for interior design.

It’s not that I don’t have style. As a teenager, my bedroom’s walls were adorned with construction paper cut-outs of butterflies, hearts and flowers -- every last one, I cut out and taped up myself. In my opinion, you can’t get much more stylish than that. I also know that paintings should be hung at eye level and that you should never block a window with a piece of furniture. So, I think of myself as pretty good at decorating and knowing where to put a rug or a shelf.

It’s the more rigorous side of home improvement that intimidates me -- basically anything involving electricity or a television, anything that requires me to “mount” some item on a wall and of course, painting. So, I count myself very lucky to have a family who not only is not intimidated by such endeavors, but naturally flourish at them.

I moved back home to the beautiful town of Bishopville this past weekend. When I arrived home, to the house my younger sister and I are sharing, I was surprised and delighted to see all the work that had been done to make it a welcoming place for me. The rooms were freshly painted in bright, pretty colors; all my furniture had been unloaded and set up in my bedroom; even all my pictures and books were set out on the shelves. It was such a sweet and welcoming gesture. I felt like I had arrived home.

My mom and sister had done such a good job at making the place hospitable, I had to try my hand at it, too! I decided to start by hanging a mirror on the back of my bedroom door. In my previous apartment, this was something I’d been able to do relatively easily. I hammered two nails into the top corners of the mirror—everything seemed OK. I confidently moved on to the bottom two corners, began hammering away, thinking that I was actually pretty good at this whole home improvement thing when -- out of nowhere -- the mirror split right across the middle. I had hammered right through the glass.

Not to be discouraged, I decided to unpack some of my cosmetics, including my hairdryer, in the bathroom. I went ahead and plugged it in to give it a whirl and found myself immediately in complete darkness. I had blown a fuse. I decided to quit while I was ahead and before the house was a pile of ashes around me. I quietly grabbed my purse and car keys and tiptoed out the house, leaving the blown fuse issue for my napping sister to figure out when she awoke. Hey, she’s good at that kind of thing. Really, I did her a favor! I think for now I’ll stick with the construction paper cut outs and leave the hammers and mirrors and electrical outlets for someone else.