A/N: Legolas is an avid NASCAR racing fan, having learned the addiction
from none other than Yes Dear, the Plastic Drink Cup Armchair Racing
Champion for the past 20 years. His favorite driver is Dale Jarrett, mostly
I think because he likes the concept of racing the big brown UPS truck, but
he'll root for pretty much anybody, especially the ones who seem to be
having the worst day. He's a real cheerleader, that Prance Helpful. The
'Tony' mentioned herein would be Tony Stewart, driver of the orange and
white #20 Chevrolet Home Depot car.
Many thanks again to PuterPatty for the help with resizing "The Weenie Elf" and for catching all my missing commas, as well as thanks to leail for catching the one thing "we who were distracted by hot dogs" missed. *grins*
Chapter 16 The Things That Dreams Are Made Of
Why is it that the woman of the house is always the one responsible for changing the paper on the roll? Doesn't matter if it's the bathroom toilet tissue or the kitchen paper towel, it seems everybody but me is able to stretch j-u-s-t e-n-o-u-g-h to make it to the next to the last square. I swear, sometimes they tear off and use only half a single sheet just to keep from having to be the one who unsprings the little bar and exchanges empty for full.
"Legolas," I say, turning towards where he's standing at the sink making bubbles by carefully squirting air through the little opening in the top of the container of Dawn dishwashing liquid, "could you get me another roll of paper towels?"
"Shur," he says. He goes to the bottom corner cabinet, squats down, and reaches a long arm back into the far recesses of the cabinet. Feels around for a minute or two. Stops to sneeze a tiny elven, "A-schik," noise, one I've never heard anyone do before I heard his. Pauses to rub his nose with his right hand, then finally produces a roll of paper towels from the cabinet with his left.
"Dere u goe," he says, passing the paper towels up to me.
As I slide the roll onto the wooden bar and pop it back into the holder that connects the dispenser to the bottom of the upper cabinets near the stove, Legolas sneezes again.
"A-SCHIK!!"
"Bless you!" I reply, not really thinking about it, but more acting out of habit in the southern fashionable custom of things. I'm more interested in checking out the print on this roll of paper towels. I usually buy plain white ones so I don't have the problem of whether the paper unrolls from over the top or comes out from underneath.
This roll has a funny watercolor-ish sort of design, heavier on one side, and prettily marked in varied shades of blue-green. As I go to hang it on the bar, it dawns on my distracted mind what exactly is wrong with this picture.
The roll of paper towel is FUZZY.
Taking a closer look reveals that the paper towel is covered in mold. I quickly drop it into the big kitchen trashcan and go to squat down in front of the corner cabinet. Opening the door, I'm hit with the smell of musty mildew, and the next elven "A-schik!" echoing forth from the blond-headed one now peering in beside me suddenly makes sense.
"Get the flashlight," I tell him. He quickly bounces to his feet, snags the big light torch from its place on top of the refrigerator, and drops back to crouch beside me.
"Whut iz dat?" he inquires.
"Mold. We've got a problem."
Turns out that's an understatement. Closer inspection reveals that the entire corner cabinet is wet and soppy. The particle board shelves are flaking apart in the very back, the part you have to lay on your belly and reach all the way to your shoulder blades with your head inside the door to see. The reason I know that is because I called Yes Dear in to investigate, and he told me.
"Looks like the dishwasher sprung a leak," says the Man of the House, trying to get up off the floor. His way is being impeded by a six-foot-tall elf standing over him, trying to see without getting down on the floor since there's no room for anything larger than his two feet, which are currently planted one on each side of Yes Dear's hips. He shoos Legolas aside and climbs to his feet, shaking his head as the Prance plucks the flashlight from his hand and drops back to squat in front of the open cabinet door.
"Dishwasher?" I ask.
"Yes. That thing there," Yes Dear says, pointing to the space beside the moldy corner cabinet, "is a dishwasher. The same thing YOU call a baking pan storage box."
He's right. We've lived here in this house, which came complete with a dishwasher, for eight years, and I have never used the thing with water in it. Dishwashing is what I have Yes Dear for.
By the time Yes Dear's finished his inspection, which I'm sure took twice as long as it normally would have because every move he made was mirrored exactly by his elven shadow, he's discovered the leak has gone under the floor, across behind the refrigerator, all the way to the back door that leads out to the carport, and halfway across toward the stove. Half my kitchen is covered in the green slime, which has carefully concealed itself behind dark recesses and under linoleum.
Even worse, a week later we find out insurance doesn't cover it.
"We're going to have to replace the floor, the cabinets, the baseboards, and the linoleum," says Yes Dear, running his fingers through his thick, dark, luxurious hair in a gesture of financial frustration. (A/N: this sentence beta'd by Yes Dear. Thank you, darling, for you input.)
Say goodbye to Disneyland, Legolas.
We spend the following week having contractors come to look at the problem and give us estimates. Several of them become suddenly very busy after visiting, and I suspect the part of the task they find most daunting is the elven supervisor who dogs every step they make. It doesn't take long to figure out that the free slave labor living in this mess will be all the labor we can afford.
"We can do this, really," Yes Dear says as we sit at the table munching elf cookies. "There's really not that much to it, and we can save a ton on labor and delivery charges."
"We don't know the first thing about remodeling!" I exclaim.
"They have classes we can take, and surely you can bring home some repair manuals from the library," he continues. "The cabinets are all custom designed by computer now, so everything's already pretty much done for you."
By now I'm looking at him like he's grown a third head. I'm wondering if it counts as a labor and delivery savings if the funds are actually just transferred from the L & D column to the ER (as in Emergency Room) department column. After all, this hasn't exactly been our year in the good health category. I've also got this nagging vision inside my head of my sparkly-shiny brand-new latest-model kitchen suddenly collapsing through the shiny new floor.
"Would you feel better if I had a contractor do just the floor?" he asks. "I could see if Joe could do it."
Oh, those magic words. Joe's done a floor for us before, and he and his assistant Lou are always so careful and so neat and so terribly polite, not to mention the way they sing those soulful spirituals softly between themselves and smile constantly as they work. Yep, mentioning Joe is magic to my ears.
"Okay, but only if Joe does the floor," I agree.
"I hoep he noez whut he'z duen bedder dan doze uthur peepul deed," announces Prance Helpful from his spot in front of the television where he's currently watching 'Survivor'.
When Joe pulls up in his black truck five days later, Legolas is out the door to greet him in a flash. In a matter of moments the two of them are conversing about mold and mildew and water leaks and floor repair. Joe doesn't bat an eyelash at the myriad of questions being flung his way almost faster than Legolas can ask them. In fact, Joe's so smart he's got the perfect way of answering.
Ever heard of the best way to learn something is by doing it?
Thirty seconds after the two of them cross the threshold onto my now bouncy- squishy kitchen floor, Joe has whipped out his retractable twenty-foot tape measure and started his new "apprentice" on the learning adventure of a lifetime.
"Put that against the wall there, Legolas," he asks politely, pointing exactly where he wants it. When the Prance hesitates slightly, Joe gently takes his hand and places it in exactly the right spot, reminding him to hold it steady and not to let it get pulled loose.
Soon Joe has stretched the tape across the kitchen and is writing down the results while the Prance beams excitedly from his spot on the one-inch side of the measuring tape. They take probably two dozen measurements, which I'm sure is at least a dozen more than Joe needs, but Legolas doesn't mind. In fact, he's eagerly anticipating all the other possible measurements they can take.
"Hoew abot hear?" he asks.
"I've got one just two inches to the left of that one, buddy, "Joe answers.
"Oeh, okae. Hoew abot hear?"
"Sorry, bud. Got that one already too."
Legolas' beam becomes a faded glow. The corners of his happy smile drop. The stately shoulders slump.
"I DO need someone to roll up my tape measure for me," Joe says, nudging him.
The elven light pops back on. "Oeh, pik me! " he whispers excitedly, raising his hand just a bit in the air.
"Let's see, hmmm . . . ," says Joe teasingly. "Uhmmm . . . who will I pick . . . . How about you, Legolas?"
"Oeh, boey! Woew!" As he reaches for the tape measure, he cocks his head to the left and listens for the slightest of moments to some voice inside his head. He suddenly straightens his posture, standing a good three inches taller and squaring his shoulders off. The twinkle remains in his eye, but the excited little elfling has suddenly been replaced by the aristocratic young prince.
"I wuld bea hoenurd tu bea of searvise," he says with a slight bow as he gracefully plucks the tape measure from Joe's hand.
Estimates written and schedules arranged, Joe agrees to return in two weeks to put in the new floor.
Meanwhile, Yes Dear and I begin the great adventure of deciding what to do about the ruined cabinets. It turns out to be significantly cheaper to put in new ones than to have replacement cabinets made to match the old ones. That is, if we do the labor ourselves. The oddest thing is that I would kill to get to run the power saw down at the theater where both of us volunteer to build sets all the time, but there's just something totally wrong about cutting up my own kitchen. Just call me weird, okay?
Maybe it's because now I'm the one paying for it if I mess up.
On Friday, Lil' Pip has been invited to spend the night with her best friend Julie, so Yes Dear and I plan an excursion to the big city to check out the goods. Legolas, not about to miss a single "Modren-erth" experience, tags along.
"Whur we goen?" he asks from his spot in the backseat as we pull onto the Interstate.
"Home Depot," Yes Dear answers.
"Okae," comes the response, as the Prance is quickly distracted by the sound of good old Rock-n-Roll coming from the radio. He sings along contentedly, having learned just about all the words to the old hits from the seventies and the eighties this station plays.
There's nothing quite like watching your mate rock along beside royalty to AC/DC's 'Hell's Bells'.
Before long we're crawling along in the heavy traffic of the big city and then pulling into the parking lot of Home Depot and climbing out of the car.
"I hoep Tony'z hear," Legolas says excitedly, looking around.
"Not today, Prance," answers Yes Dear. "He's at qualifying for this weekend's race."
"Oeh. . . ," says the Prance. "Dat'z rite. I furgot."
I lost him the first time before we ever breached the doorway. Of course, I lost Yes Dear at the same time, so it wasn't so bad.
"Hae!" I overhear the elven tenor announcing gleefully, "If we haed won like dis, I culd due EBERYBUDDIE'Z laewn!"
Looking back behind me, I find him sitting pretty on the biggest John Deere riding tractor-sized lawnmower I think I've ever seen. God-knows-how-many- thousand horsepower with an attached bagger and a canopy, and hitched behind it is a Shetland pony sized trailer. He looks like any other boy from down on the farm. Matter of fact, he looks remarkably like a blond version of my own dark-haired Yes Dear, sitting pretty on the John Deere right beside him that's only a half-a-herd of horses more powerful.
"Yeah, that baby would pretty much seal up the deal on the neighborhood competition," says Yes Dear.
I figure the both of them must be high on octane gas or something.
"GET IN HERE!" I hiss.
Dejectedly, they peel themselves off the mowers and follow me to the door. We're not three steps inside when I hear it.
"WOEW. . . ," mutters an awe struck voice just behind me and to the left. "VALINOR. . . ."
In front of his Depot-virgin eyes stretches the handyman's dream. Chandeliers hang from the ceiling, gleaming toilets with golden handles stand suspended on the displays to the right, every kind of light bulb imaginable is carefully boxed for selection just before us, and stretching off to the left is a huge display of every power tool ever known to mankind.
"Woew," he whispers again.
Okay, make that every power tool never before seen by elven eyes.
"They even have the kitchen sink," prods Yes Dear, taking him by the elbow. "Come on."
Before long we find the kitchen remodeling section and are busy opening and closing all the cabinet doors and sliding the drawers in and out. White was a unanimous decision before we even set foot in the place, so our choices begin in a significantly reduced fashion. We quickly pick out an arched pattern and move on to all the options for singles and doubles and lazy- Susan pantries and octagonal corner cabinets.
"Hello? May I help you?" asks the saleswoman in the bright orange apron as she steps into the model kitchen behind us.
"We need a new kitchen," I answer, at the same time my significant other says, "We're just looking."
Uh-oh. Not a good sign.
The associate quickly pounces on me, clearly the weaker of the two sexes present. She extends her hand for a friendly handshake with me. "My name's Connie. What's your budget, honey?"
"Uhhh . . . ?" I look at Yes Dear. Far as I know, we've got the $500 the insurance lady sent that was just to fix the floor. Apparently nothing else was covered.
"We just came to check out our options," he answers.
"Well, how big is the area you have to work in?" she asks.
"Bowt dis beeg," replies the voice of Prance Helpful as he takes this opportunity to appear from around the corner, nodding at the tiny half- kitchen we're standing in. "Mebbe smaellur."
"Oh, so things are a bit tight. . . ," Connie mumbles out loud but supposedly to herself.
"Oeh, noe!" replies the Prance. "Da keetchin at hoem haz a stove an a reefrijerador tuu. It'z beegur dan dis, deafanitelee."
"You have measurements?" she says to me.
"Yes," cuts in Yes Dear, clearly becoming annoyed. He pulls out a green accordion file folder and produces his graph paper rendition of our current kitchen.
She invites us to the "design center" to sit, where she takes one look at Yes Dear's careful measurements and shakes her head.
"Nobody owns a 27 inch stove," she begins. "They just don't make them."
Yes Dear bristles.
"And your refrigerator can't be 33 inches either," she continues, obviously unaware of whom she's now dealing with.
Yes Dear's looking more like a warg by the moment. As he begins to growl a response, something akin to college degrees and mathematical aptitude and being physically present versus using psychic powers to use a measuring tape, here comes the Prance.
"DEED U SEA DAT WON???" he exclaims gleefully. "I waent DAT WON." He points behind me and to the right.
Following his outstretched finger, I ask, "The one with the brown cabinets? We've already decided on white, Prance."
"NOE! NOE! Noet da kaebinitz! Luuk at dat oen da toep of da kaebinitz!"
Sure enough, the black marble countertop skillfully laid over the brown walnut cabinets is inlaid with thousands of tiny sparkling pieces of glitter. The whole kitchen looks spotless, with the reflections of a million tiny points of starlight radiating forth from the glistening ebony surface.
"Dat won'z bean keesid bie Elbereth," he murmurs, awestruck.
"At least a million times," I hear myself say. It's the most beautiful, most spacious, most wonderful, most sparkling, and most of all SPOTLESSLY CLEAN kitchen I've ever laid eyes on. And I GOTTA HAVE IT.
(Note to self: change name to alliwantisthatelberethkissedkitchencountertopforchristmas)
The saleslady skillfully picks this moment to show up once again, this time with a whole pile of little rectangular countertop samples in her hand. "Look at this one over here, "she says, maneuvering us over to a model kitchen a little further down. "This countertop is about the same color, and it's in your price range."
Uh-oh.
"Buet we like DAT won!" protests Prance Helpful, who's not feeling very helpful at all right now. "Dat won'z all spaerklee an kleen an beeuteeful!"
"That's more for show," she tells him as she pulls him aside. She stands very close to him, invading his personal space as she whispers in his pointed ear, "You don't want her getting her hopes up, do you? It's very expensive, quite pricey and all." She puts her arm around his shoulders, consoling him. "Be a good . . . ," she pauses to size him up, checking out our matching long hair with the matching warrior braids, "uhhh . . . brother, and tell her how fantastic you think one of these less expensive ones would look in her new kitchen." She holds out a dozen of the little rectangular chips for him to take.
"She'z noet my seestur. She'z my ruumaet," he says defensively.
Connie glances from Legolas to Yes Dear. "Then who's he?" she softly asks.
With a wave of his long fingered hand, he replies, "Oeh, heem. He'z jest her huezbaend." To her puzzled look he adds, "He libz dere tuu."
"Really?" says Connie, raising both eyebrows.
"Ueh-hueh," says the Prance, nodding.
"Okaaaaay. . . ," she says, slowly and carefully removing her arm from Prance Helpful's shoulders, so as not to disturb any of the cooties currently residing on him, I suppose.
An hour or two later we've garnered a computer printout with a designers rendition of what our new kitchen will look like, four pamphlets on the various cabinet maker's styles, two brochures on sinks, a card from the guy who orders new stoves with prices written all over the back, and about a hundred of the little rectangular pieces of countertop colors. I made Prance Helpful put back the thirty or so drawer pulls he had gathered while we talked estimates with Connie because the drawer pulls were all at least five dollars apiece. No free brochures for drawer pulls existed.
The Prance puts on his princely pout. "I waent dis won dat luukz like a leedle keetie," he whines.
"Legolas, those are $13 each and we need twenty-eight of them."
"I'll bea rite bak," he confides, turning to sprint off down the aisle yet again.
"Where are you going?" I holler after him, plenty loud enough for even his elven ears to hear.
"I em goeng tu git dem!" he yells back, beaming brightly and trotting off down the aisle.
"NO!" I cry. When he turns back around, I explain, "That's almost $400 just for the drawer pulls. We could buy three more cabinets for that much money."
"Whur ar we gunna puet dem??" he asks, incredulous.
With an exasperated sigh, I answer," It's just a fig. . . ."
"I noe. It'z jest a feegur of speaech," he quotes, imitating me perfectly, then going back to his pouting face.
"Come on. It's time to go home. I need you to see which one of these little rectangles matches the carpet and the linoleum the best. You're good at matching things."
"Yaes, elves ar noewn fur dere hie seanse of faeshun," he announces all wide-eyed and serious, plucking the countertop samples from my hand. "I wuld bea da baest maen. . . I meen, da baest elf fur da joeb."
And with that, he proceeds to march himself right down the aisle to the front of "Valinor" and right out the sliding glass doors.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lub Ledders frum Legolas
daw the minstrel: *blueshiz* I deedn't noew u culd sea my kurrige en dat Teenkie-Weenkie sewt! Hoew embareasseng! Doze majik shoewz shur maed all da deefrinse. Due u hav a pare of ruebee raed shoewz, da kiend wid da spaerkulz oen dem? Oooeh, doze ar purty. . . .*reechiz owt tu foendul ur shoewz*
JastaElf: Suilad, Ada an Suilad, Jasta! *waevz wildlee, bloewz keesiz* U wuld lub deze shoewz, Ada-dey wuld goe wid ur grean roeb, an ur yaellow won, and da awtuem harvist won wuld mach tuu! Yaes, I wuz wandureeng arond Lothlorien, buet dat Dwaerf jest keapt foelloweeng me! Nawtee? Me?? Neber! *sliedz tu da floar en a pueddil of elf guu*
Phoenix Flight: Yaeh, doze shoewz shur wear a guud thaeng. I wuz beegineeng tu theenk I mite bea 'Orkbayt' fureber. *gievz u a beeg skweeze!*
SarWolf Snape" We haed a vary guud tiem! I hoep dis weakeand we weel bea goen agin! *huegz*
Lil' Pip: Deer Leedle Peep, Yaeh, soe dere. Vys n'vanima ar' vys atara lanneina. Bie, Legolas
Writer from Rivendell: Woah. Dat sowndz daengerus. Dat wuld maek it FUEN! Yaes, dat wuz a graey elvin kuerse dat I sed. It coemz en haendee aloet of tiemz. *smuuch*
Lando's Star: My mom is like me. That can be scary. Lil' Pip is just like me most of the time too, which is even SCARIER! *haendz u a spuunful of ise kreem* Dat'z all da ise kreem I hav laeft, buet it'z steel guud, izn't it? Deed u like my shoewz? Mebbe u wuld like boewleeng bedder if ur shoewz an baell mached? *kueddlz u*
Nimlos Greenleaf: *waevz* Glaed ur bak! Skool iz noet eeveil, buet it iz a loet of wurk. Thaenk u fur all da sweatz! *eetz a peenuet budder hoerse an den keesiz u*
Michelle6: I deed hav a guud Haelowean. Aftur I goet a loet of kaendee, I weant tu a paertee an haed hoet dawgz an poetaetoe cheepz an budderskoch kuukiez maed owt of chieneze nuudlz an maershmaellowz. Hear, hav won! *haendz u a kuukie*
Deb: Dey haed sum playn boewleeng shoewz at Rak Ruum laest tiem I wuz dere, buet dey wear gurl shoewz an my feat wuldn't fiet. al sez we aelwaeyz muest laet Yaes Deer whin soe he duzn't wine. Yaes, deel peeklz ar baest, buet I lub da sweat wonz tuu. I deed noet git tu plae puul, sense we weant tu git ise kreem enstaed. Dere'z aelwaeyz naekzt tiem. *beeg huegz u*
Nilmandra: OOOoeh! Whut kulurz deed u uze fur ur oeffise? I baet it'z purty. Yaes Deer deed taek me goelfeeng, an I like bean owtsied tho my baell deed goe en da treaz a feuw tiemz. I jest woer my blew jeenz tho. I hoep ur fealin bedder noew? *snuegglz u uep tite an ruenz my feengurs threw ur hare*
SperryDee: Dat sowndz like a guud koestum! Hoew ar ur Fraench laessunz goeng? Sae hae tu Charlie fur me! *huegz u*
M and the Two Princesses: I meesid u! *waevz an bloewz xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxxoxoxoxox's* Eberybuddie neadz sum shoewz like deze. Dere majik, I tael u! I kin seeng "Ober da Raenboew" an "Wear Oeff Tu Sea Da Whizzard" tuu. I like boewleeng cuz u kin jest goe owt dere an hav fuen an noet wurry abot weening. It'z jest fuen tu waer da shoewz fur a leedle wile, u noe?
The Karenator: al weant az da Muthur an kaerried eberybuddiez kaendee an jakitz an flaeshlitez. Yaes, I theenk Baelroeg feengurz iz a guud naem fur hoet dawgz. U like my koestum an my shoewz? Woew! *taekz eerpluegz* I proemis, tho I doen't noew whut ur taelkin abot. Hannon le! *seandz u sum elbin lub*
Space-Case 7029: U neber noew whut al weel git entu nekzt, due u? She iz suech a trublemaekur. I theenk we ar goen boewleeng agin dis weakend. I'm glaed u like my Teenkie-Weenkie koestum! *skweeziz u*
Katani Petitedra: Ureeka iz an eggsklamashun of triyumfant acheevmint. Huem. . . I like dat wurd onomatopeea, whur u maek uep wurdz dat meen sowndz like buezz an smaeck. *smuuch!*
Newmoon: U like da shoewz? I weesh I culd ware dem eberydae, buet da luk mite ruen owt if I deed. Soe u like my Haelowean koestum, hueh? *geeglz an bloewz u a kees*
Lady Peredhel: U bea kaerful wid doze hueman gueyz. Dey'll brake ur hart an moev oen tu keesin sum uthur gurl, taek my wurd fur it! *gievz u a beeg hueg, sense ur noet entu elves enimoer*
Holly :o) : Ur absoeluetlee rite, u muest taek hareculur entu kunsideerashun whin selekteeng boewleeng shoewz. Da majik izn't dere if da shoewz doen't mach. Whut culur shoewz due u ware? *seandz u a kees*
MagicalRachel: Dat'z rite! Nien iz da Faellowsheep nuembur! I thot dat mysef. Beafore I laeft Meedle-erth I gaev Gandalf won of doze blueweeng reensiz, an I deedn't sea enithaeng eggstra en heez beerd. Stuedee haerd! *snuegglz u*
Dunrosiel: Wear noet haeveeng issuez, ar we? *poyntz at flaemthrowr* Da peepul puet an 's' en 'lisp' soe u wuldn't theenk dey wear taelkeen abot 'leepz' which ar toetully deefrint theengz. *gievz u a kees oen da leepz* Sea?
kimmaree: I lub da Fleentstoenz! I'm noet shur my baell wuld rowel vary guud if it wuz a rok. I haed tu due dat wid al'z kaer won tiem tu git it tu goe-dat wuz fuen! *skweeziz u tite!*
Grammar Laedee: Luuk, u deed it! Oenlee won poest dis tiem! I em luukeeng foerwurd tu ur veezit nekzt weak. Sea? I em noet tuchin Leedle Peep *hoevurz indekz feengur an elf hare abuv her skeen* al tawt me dis gaem . . .heahea! *gievz u a beeeeeeeg hueg!*
VladimirsAngel: Dat iz nise elvish swaereeng! U shuld here sum of da stueff I lurned frum doze Peredhil tweenz. I like da karameal an straewburriez tuu, an da nuetz, an sum bandanaz, an hoet fuj, an u jest HAEV tu git a chaerrie oen da toep of ur ise kreem. *reechiz owt an steelz a biet of ur ise kreem frum u*
Chan: Due u like sweat peeklz tu? If u kuet uep da deel wonz en leedle sliesiz an poar owt all of da juese en da jaer, den puet da sliesiz bak en da jaer an feel it wid suegur, en a kuple of daeyz u haev da neetist taesteeng sweat-n-sowr peekulz eber! al'z graendma uzed tu due dat, an noew she duz it fur me! Waenna taeste? *eetz won an den keesiz u*
leail: Hae, kin I boerroe doze paentz? I mite nead dem dis weadeand if we goe boewleeng agin. We kin steel goe off an plae tugethur aeftur we chaeng. *taekz u bie da haend an leedz u beahiend da gaerage doar*
raukoiel: An lub! Doen't furgit da lub! I em glaed u likd Teenkie-Weenkie an my shoewz tu. al wouldn't laet me ware bowth at da saem tiem. She sed dat wuld bea tu skaerrie fur da leedle cheeldrin. *snuegglz u*
anja: Oeh, nin-mel, buet deze shoewz, dey ar soe spaeshul! Luuk hoew muech bedder I plaed wonse my baell an my shoewz machd! Hear *haendz u sum suen glaessiz* Iz dat bedder? *smuuchiz u*
Kat: Hav u sean da Tuu Toewrz yaet? Thaenk u fur da e-kard. Dat wuz nise of u tu seand it. Tael Jess I sed kungradulashunz oen gittin a stryk-dat wuz guud! Tael Jennifer she kin rite tu me tuu. *seandz sum xoxoxoxoxoxxooxoxoxoxoxxo's fur u tu shaer* Ruen faest frum doze boeyz!
Angaloth: Whut'z oedd abot an elf draessd az Teenkie-Weenkie waelkeeng doewn da streat? *holdz uep an 8 trak taep* al sez tu giv u dis. Yaeh, I wuz glaed tu git enuf of a skore en boewleeng tu git a neuw niknaem. I soerta like 'Haendsum' misef, hoew abot u? *seandz u sum lub*
PuterPatty: It's "luxUrious". And what's with all those dots? Are those drool drips? *hands you a roll of non-moldy paper towels* I'd appreciate it if you'd clean that up. *hands another roll to the Prance* And you'd better dry off too. Hey! Gimme that! *snags 8-ball from the long elven fingers* I told you not to take things that aren't yours. . . . Buet, al!! *powtz* She DUZ hoeld da #1 tikit, al. *goewz tu da freedge an gitz owt da sweat-n-sowr peekilz ensted, puetz a slieze en my mowf an suekz da shugar oeff it uenteel it'z all goen* Coem hear, baybee. I goet sumpthaeng bedder dan a deel fur u. . . .
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What happens next? Which drawer pulls will Legolas determine are most fashionable? What about the hundred little rectangular chips of countertop? And powertools . . . . will there be powertools in the Prance's future?
Stay tuned for the next exciting phase of "The Redemption of al's Kitchen"!
Many thanks again to PuterPatty for the help with resizing "The Weenie Elf" and for catching all my missing commas, as well as thanks to leail for catching the one thing "we who were distracted by hot dogs" missed. *grins*
Chapter 16 The Things That Dreams Are Made Of
Why is it that the woman of the house is always the one responsible for changing the paper on the roll? Doesn't matter if it's the bathroom toilet tissue or the kitchen paper towel, it seems everybody but me is able to stretch j-u-s-t e-n-o-u-g-h to make it to the next to the last square. I swear, sometimes they tear off and use only half a single sheet just to keep from having to be the one who unsprings the little bar and exchanges empty for full.
"Legolas," I say, turning towards where he's standing at the sink making bubbles by carefully squirting air through the little opening in the top of the container of Dawn dishwashing liquid, "could you get me another roll of paper towels?"
"Shur," he says. He goes to the bottom corner cabinet, squats down, and reaches a long arm back into the far recesses of the cabinet. Feels around for a minute or two. Stops to sneeze a tiny elven, "A-schik," noise, one I've never heard anyone do before I heard his. Pauses to rub his nose with his right hand, then finally produces a roll of paper towels from the cabinet with his left.
"Dere u goe," he says, passing the paper towels up to me.
As I slide the roll onto the wooden bar and pop it back into the holder that connects the dispenser to the bottom of the upper cabinets near the stove, Legolas sneezes again.
"A-SCHIK!!"
"Bless you!" I reply, not really thinking about it, but more acting out of habit in the southern fashionable custom of things. I'm more interested in checking out the print on this roll of paper towels. I usually buy plain white ones so I don't have the problem of whether the paper unrolls from over the top or comes out from underneath.
This roll has a funny watercolor-ish sort of design, heavier on one side, and prettily marked in varied shades of blue-green. As I go to hang it on the bar, it dawns on my distracted mind what exactly is wrong with this picture.
The roll of paper towel is FUZZY.
Taking a closer look reveals that the paper towel is covered in mold. I quickly drop it into the big kitchen trashcan and go to squat down in front of the corner cabinet. Opening the door, I'm hit with the smell of musty mildew, and the next elven "A-schik!" echoing forth from the blond-headed one now peering in beside me suddenly makes sense.
"Get the flashlight," I tell him. He quickly bounces to his feet, snags the big light torch from its place on top of the refrigerator, and drops back to crouch beside me.
"Whut iz dat?" he inquires.
"Mold. We've got a problem."
Turns out that's an understatement. Closer inspection reveals that the entire corner cabinet is wet and soppy. The particle board shelves are flaking apart in the very back, the part you have to lay on your belly and reach all the way to your shoulder blades with your head inside the door to see. The reason I know that is because I called Yes Dear in to investigate, and he told me.
"Looks like the dishwasher sprung a leak," says the Man of the House, trying to get up off the floor. His way is being impeded by a six-foot-tall elf standing over him, trying to see without getting down on the floor since there's no room for anything larger than his two feet, which are currently planted one on each side of Yes Dear's hips. He shoos Legolas aside and climbs to his feet, shaking his head as the Prance plucks the flashlight from his hand and drops back to squat in front of the open cabinet door.
"Dishwasher?" I ask.
"Yes. That thing there," Yes Dear says, pointing to the space beside the moldy corner cabinet, "is a dishwasher. The same thing YOU call a baking pan storage box."
He's right. We've lived here in this house, which came complete with a dishwasher, for eight years, and I have never used the thing with water in it. Dishwashing is what I have Yes Dear for.
By the time Yes Dear's finished his inspection, which I'm sure took twice as long as it normally would have because every move he made was mirrored exactly by his elven shadow, he's discovered the leak has gone under the floor, across behind the refrigerator, all the way to the back door that leads out to the carport, and halfway across toward the stove. Half my kitchen is covered in the green slime, which has carefully concealed itself behind dark recesses and under linoleum.
Even worse, a week later we find out insurance doesn't cover it.
"We're going to have to replace the floor, the cabinets, the baseboards, and the linoleum," says Yes Dear, running his fingers through his thick, dark, luxurious hair in a gesture of financial frustration. (A/N: this sentence beta'd by Yes Dear. Thank you, darling, for you input.)
Say goodbye to Disneyland, Legolas.
We spend the following week having contractors come to look at the problem and give us estimates. Several of them become suddenly very busy after visiting, and I suspect the part of the task they find most daunting is the elven supervisor who dogs every step they make. It doesn't take long to figure out that the free slave labor living in this mess will be all the labor we can afford.
"We can do this, really," Yes Dear says as we sit at the table munching elf cookies. "There's really not that much to it, and we can save a ton on labor and delivery charges."
"We don't know the first thing about remodeling!" I exclaim.
"They have classes we can take, and surely you can bring home some repair manuals from the library," he continues. "The cabinets are all custom designed by computer now, so everything's already pretty much done for you."
By now I'm looking at him like he's grown a third head. I'm wondering if it counts as a labor and delivery savings if the funds are actually just transferred from the L & D column to the ER (as in Emergency Room) department column. After all, this hasn't exactly been our year in the good health category. I've also got this nagging vision inside my head of my sparkly-shiny brand-new latest-model kitchen suddenly collapsing through the shiny new floor.
"Would you feel better if I had a contractor do just the floor?" he asks. "I could see if Joe could do it."
Oh, those magic words. Joe's done a floor for us before, and he and his assistant Lou are always so careful and so neat and so terribly polite, not to mention the way they sing those soulful spirituals softly between themselves and smile constantly as they work. Yep, mentioning Joe is magic to my ears.
"Okay, but only if Joe does the floor," I agree.
"I hoep he noez whut he'z duen bedder dan doze uthur peepul deed," announces Prance Helpful from his spot in front of the television where he's currently watching 'Survivor'.
When Joe pulls up in his black truck five days later, Legolas is out the door to greet him in a flash. In a matter of moments the two of them are conversing about mold and mildew and water leaks and floor repair. Joe doesn't bat an eyelash at the myriad of questions being flung his way almost faster than Legolas can ask them. In fact, Joe's so smart he's got the perfect way of answering.
Ever heard of the best way to learn something is by doing it?
Thirty seconds after the two of them cross the threshold onto my now bouncy- squishy kitchen floor, Joe has whipped out his retractable twenty-foot tape measure and started his new "apprentice" on the learning adventure of a lifetime.
"Put that against the wall there, Legolas," he asks politely, pointing exactly where he wants it. When the Prance hesitates slightly, Joe gently takes his hand and places it in exactly the right spot, reminding him to hold it steady and not to let it get pulled loose.
Soon Joe has stretched the tape across the kitchen and is writing down the results while the Prance beams excitedly from his spot on the one-inch side of the measuring tape. They take probably two dozen measurements, which I'm sure is at least a dozen more than Joe needs, but Legolas doesn't mind. In fact, he's eagerly anticipating all the other possible measurements they can take.
"Hoew abot hear?" he asks.
"I've got one just two inches to the left of that one, buddy, "Joe answers.
"Oeh, okae. Hoew abot hear?"
"Sorry, bud. Got that one already too."
Legolas' beam becomes a faded glow. The corners of his happy smile drop. The stately shoulders slump.
"I DO need someone to roll up my tape measure for me," Joe says, nudging him.
The elven light pops back on. "Oeh, pik me! " he whispers excitedly, raising his hand just a bit in the air.
"Let's see, hmmm . . . ," says Joe teasingly. "Uhmmm . . . who will I pick . . . . How about you, Legolas?"
"Oeh, boey! Woew!" As he reaches for the tape measure, he cocks his head to the left and listens for the slightest of moments to some voice inside his head. He suddenly straightens his posture, standing a good three inches taller and squaring his shoulders off. The twinkle remains in his eye, but the excited little elfling has suddenly been replaced by the aristocratic young prince.
"I wuld bea hoenurd tu bea of searvise," he says with a slight bow as he gracefully plucks the tape measure from Joe's hand.
Estimates written and schedules arranged, Joe agrees to return in two weeks to put in the new floor.
Meanwhile, Yes Dear and I begin the great adventure of deciding what to do about the ruined cabinets. It turns out to be significantly cheaper to put in new ones than to have replacement cabinets made to match the old ones. That is, if we do the labor ourselves. The oddest thing is that I would kill to get to run the power saw down at the theater where both of us volunteer to build sets all the time, but there's just something totally wrong about cutting up my own kitchen. Just call me weird, okay?
Maybe it's because now I'm the one paying for it if I mess up.
On Friday, Lil' Pip has been invited to spend the night with her best friend Julie, so Yes Dear and I plan an excursion to the big city to check out the goods. Legolas, not about to miss a single "Modren-erth" experience, tags along.
"Whur we goen?" he asks from his spot in the backseat as we pull onto the Interstate.
"Home Depot," Yes Dear answers.
"Okae," comes the response, as the Prance is quickly distracted by the sound of good old Rock-n-Roll coming from the radio. He sings along contentedly, having learned just about all the words to the old hits from the seventies and the eighties this station plays.
There's nothing quite like watching your mate rock along beside royalty to AC/DC's 'Hell's Bells'.
Before long we're crawling along in the heavy traffic of the big city and then pulling into the parking lot of Home Depot and climbing out of the car.
"I hoep Tony'z hear," Legolas says excitedly, looking around.
"Not today, Prance," answers Yes Dear. "He's at qualifying for this weekend's race."
"Oeh. . . ," says the Prance. "Dat'z rite. I furgot."
I lost him the first time before we ever breached the doorway. Of course, I lost Yes Dear at the same time, so it wasn't so bad.
"Hae!" I overhear the elven tenor announcing gleefully, "If we haed won like dis, I culd due EBERYBUDDIE'Z laewn!"
Looking back behind me, I find him sitting pretty on the biggest John Deere riding tractor-sized lawnmower I think I've ever seen. God-knows-how-many- thousand horsepower with an attached bagger and a canopy, and hitched behind it is a Shetland pony sized trailer. He looks like any other boy from down on the farm. Matter of fact, he looks remarkably like a blond version of my own dark-haired Yes Dear, sitting pretty on the John Deere right beside him that's only a half-a-herd of horses more powerful.
"Yeah, that baby would pretty much seal up the deal on the neighborhood competition," says Yes Dear.
I figure the both of them must be high on octane gas or something.
"GET IN HERE!" I hiss.
Dejectedly, they peel themselves off the mowers and follow me to the door. We're not three steps inside when I hear it.
"WOEW. . . ," mutters an awe struck voice just behind me and to the left. "VALINOR. . . ."
In front of his Depot-virgin eyes stretches the handyman's dream. Chandeliers hang from the ceiling, gleaming toilets with golden handles stand suspended on the displays to the right, every kind of light bulb imaginable is carefully boxed for selection just before us, and stretching off to the left is a huge display of every power tool ever known to mankind.
"Woew," he whispers again.
Okay, make that every power tool never before seen by elven eyes.
"They even have the kitchen sink," prods Yes Dear, taking him by the elbow. "Come on."
Before long we find the kitchen remodeling section and are busy opening and closing all the cabinet doors and sliding the drawers in and out. White was a unanimous decision before we even set foot in the place, so our choices begin in a significantly reduced fashion. We quickly pick out an arched pattern and move on to all the options for singles and doubles and lazy- Susan pantries and octagonal corner cabinets.
"Hello? May I help you?" asks the saleswoman in the bright orange apron as she steps into the model kitchen behind us.
"We need a new kitchen," I answer, at the same time my significant other says, "We're just looking."
Uh-oh. Not a good sign.
The associate quickly pounces on me, clearly the weaker of the two sexes present. She extends her hand for a friendly handshake with me. "My name's Connie. What's your budget, honey?"
"Uhhh . . . ?" I look at Yes Dear. Far as I know, we've got the $500 the insurance lady sent that was just to fix the floor. Apparently nothing else was covered.
"We just came to check out our options," he answers.
"Well, how big is the area you have to work in?" she asks.
"Bowt dis beeg," replies the voice of Prance Helpful as he takes this opportunity to appear from around the corner, nodding at the tiny half- kitchen we're standing in. "Mebbe smaellur."
"Oh, so things are a bit tight. . . ," Connie mumbles out loud but supposedly to herself.
"Oeh, noe!" replies the Prance. "Da keetchin at hoem haz a stove an a reefrijerador tuu. It'z beegur dan dis, deafanitelee."
"You have measurements?" she says to me.
"Yes," cuts in Yes Dear, clearly becoming annoyed. He pulls out a green accordion file folder and produces his graph paper rendition of our current kitchen.
She invites us to the "design center" to sit, where she takes one look at Yes Dear's careful measurements and shakes her head.
"Nobody owns a 27 inch stove," she begins. "They just don't make them."
Yes Dear bristles.
"And your refrigerator can't be 33 inches either," she continues, obviously unaware of whom she's now dealing with.
Yes Dear's looking more like a warg by the moment. As he begins to growl a response, something akin to college degrees and mathematical aptitude and being physically present versus using psychic powers to use a measuring tape, here comes the Prance.
"DEED U SEA DAT WON???" he exclaims gleefully. "I waent DAT WON." He points behind me and to the right.
Following his outstretched finger, I ask, "The one with the brown cabinets? We've already decided on white, Prance."
"NOE! NOE! Noet da kaebinitz! Luuk at dat oen da toep of da kaebinitz!"
Sure enough, the black marble countertop skillfully laid over the brown walnut cabinets is inlaid with thousands of tiny sparkling pieces of glitter. The whole kitchen looks spotless, with the reflections of a million tiny points of starlight radiating forth from the glistening ebony surface.
"Dat won'z bean keesid bie Elbereth," he murmurs, awestruck.
"At least a million times," I hear myself say. It's the most beautiful, most spacious, most wonderful, most sparkling, and most of all SPOTLESSLY CLEAN kitchen I've ever laid eyes on. And I GOTTA HAVE IT.
(Note to self: change name to alliwantisthatelberethkissedkitchencountertopforchristmas)
The saleslady skillfully picks this moment to show up once again, this time with a whole pile of little rectangular countertop samples in her hand. "Look at this one over here, "she says, maneuvering us over to a model kitchen a little further down. "This countertop is about the same color, and it's in your price range."
Uh-oh.
"Buet we like DAT won!" protests Prance Helpful, who's not feeling very helpful at all right now. "Dat won'z all spaerklee an kleen an beeuteeful!"
"That's more for show," she tells him as she pulls him aside. She stands very close to him, invading his personal space as she whispers in his pointed ear, "You don't want her getting her hopes up, do you? It's very expensive, quite pricey and all." She puts her arm around his shoulders, consoling him. "Be a good . . . ," she pauses to size him up, checking out our matching long hair with the matching warrior braids, "uhhh . . . brother, and tell her how fantastic you think one of these less expensive ones would look in her new kitchen." She holds out a dozen of the little rectangular chips for him to take.
"She'z noet my seestur. She'z my ruumaet," he says defensively.
Connie glances from Legolas to Yes Dear. "Then who's he?" she softly asks.
With a wave of his long fingered hand, he replies, "Oeh, heem. He'z jest her huezbaend." To her puzzled look he adds, "He libz dere tuu."
"Really?" says Connie, raising both eyebrows.
"Ueh-hueh," says the Prance, nodding.
"Okaaaaay. . . ," she says, slowly and carefully removing her arm from Prance Helpful's shoulders, so as not to disturb any of the cooties currently residing on him, I suppose.
An hour or two later we've garnered a computer printout with a designers rendition of what our new kitchen will look like, four pamphlets on the various cabinet maker's styles, two brochures on sinks, a card from the guy who orders new stoves with prices written all over the back, and about a hundred of the little rectangular pieces of countertop colors. I made Prance Helpful put back the thirty or so drawer pulls he had gathered while we talked estimates with Connie because the drawer pulls were all at least five dollars apiece. No free brochures for drawer pulls existed.
The Prance puts on his princely pout. "I waent dis won dat luukz like a leedle keetie," he whines.
"Legolas, those are $13 each and we need twenty-eight of them."
"I'll bea rite bak," he confides, turning to sprint off down the aisle yet again.
"Where are you going?" I holler after him, plenty loud enough for even his elven ears to hear.
"I em goeng tu git dem!" he yells back, beaming brightly and trotting off down the aisle.
"NO!" I cry. When he turns back around, I explain, "That's almost $400 just for the drawer pulls. We could buy three more cabinets for that much money."
"Whur ar we gunna puet dem??" he asks, incredulous.
With an exasperated sigh, I answer," It's just a fig. . . ."
"I noe. It'z jest a feegur of speaech," he quotes, imitating me perfectly, then going back to his pouting face.
"Come on. It's time to go home. I need you to see which one of these little rectangles matches the carpet and the linoleum the best. You're good at matching things."
"Yaes, elves ar noewn fur dere hie seanse of faeshun," he announces all wide-eyed and serious, plucking the countertop samples from my hand. "I wuld bea da baest maen. . . I meen, da baest elf fur da joeb."
And with that, he proceeds to march himself right down the aisle to the front of "Valinor" and right out the sliding glass doors.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lub Ledders frum Legolas
daw the minstrel: *blueshiz* I deedn't noew u culd sea my kurrige en dat Teenkie-Weenkie sewt! Hoew embareasseng! Doze majik shoewz shur maed all da deefrinse. Due u hav a pare of ruebee raed shoewz, da kiend wid da spaerkulz oen dem? Oooeh, doze ar purty. . . .*reechiz owt tu foendul ur shoewz*
JastaElf: Suilad, Ada an Suilad, Jasta! *waevz wildlee, bloewz keesiz* U wuld lub deze shoewz, Ada-dey wuld goe wid ur grean roeb, an ur yaellow won, and da awtuem harvist won wuld mach tuu! Yaes, I wuz wandureeng arond Lothlorien, buet dat Dwaerf jest keapt foelloweeng me! Nawtee? Me?? Neber! *sliedz tu da floar en a pueddil of elf guu*
Phoenix Flight: Yaeh, doze shoewz shur wear a guud thaeng. I wuz beegineeng tu theenk I mite bea 'Orkbayt' fureber. *gievz u a beeg skweeze!*
SarWolf Snape" We haed a vary guud tiem! I hoep dis weakeand we weel bea goen agin! *huegz*
Lil' Pip: Deer Leedle Peep, Yaeh, soe dere. Vys n'vanima ar' vys atara lanneina. Bie, Legolas
Writer from Rivendell: Woah. Dat sowndz daengerus. Dat wuld maek it FUEN! Yaes, dat wuz a graey elvin kuerse dat I sed. It coemz en haendee aloet of tiemz. *smuuch*
Lando's Star: My mom is like me. That can be scary. Lil' Pip is just like me most of the time too, which is even SCARIER! *haendz u a spuunful of ise kreem* Dat'z all da ise kreem I hav laeft, buet it'z steel guud, izn't it? Deed u like my shoewz? Mebbe u wuld like boewleeng bedder if ur shoewz an baell mached? *kueddlz u*
Nimlos Greenleaf: *waevz* Glaed ur bak! Skool iz noet eeveil, buet it iz a loet of wurk. Thaenk u fur all da sweatz! *eetz a peenuet budder hoerse an den keesiz u*
Michelle6: I deed hav a guud Haelowean. Aftur I goet a loet of kaendee, I weant tu a paertee an haed hoet dawgz an poetaetoe cheepz an budderskoch kuukiez maed owt of chieneze nuudlz an maershmaellowz. Hear, hav won! *haendz u a kuukie*
Deb: Dey haed sum playn boewleeng shoewz at Rak Ruum laest tiem I wuz dere, buet dey wear gurl shoewz an my feat wuldn't fiet. al sez we aelwaeyz muest laet Yaes Deer whin soe he duzn't wine. Yaes, deel peeklz ar baest, buet I lub da sweat wonz tuu. I deed noet git tu plae puul, sense we weant tu git ise kreem enstaed. Dere'z aelwaeyz naekzt tiem. *beeg huegz u*
Nilmandra: OOOoeh! Whut kulurz deed u uze fur ur oeffise? I baet it'z purty. Yaes Deer deed taek me goelfeeng, an I like bean owtsied tho my baell deed goe en da treaz a feuw tiemz. I jest woer my blew jeenz tho. I hoep ur fealin bedder noew? *snuegglz u uep tite an ruenz my feengurs threw ur hare*
SperryDee: Dat sowndz like a guud koestum! Hoew ar ur Fraench laessunz goeng? Sae hae tu Charlie fur me! *huegz u*
M and the Two Princesses: I meesid u! *waevz an bloewz xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxxoxoxoxox's* Eberybuddie neadz sum shoewz like deze. Dere majik, I tael u! I kin seeng "Ober da Raenboew" an "Wear Oeff Tu Sea Da Whizzard" tuu. I like boewleeng cuz u kin jest goe owt dere an hav fuen an noet wurry abot weening. It'z jest fuen tu waer da shoewz fur a leedle wile, u noe?
The Karenator: al weant az da Muthur an kaerried eberybuddiez kaendee an jakitz an flaeshlitez. Yaes, I theenk Baelroeg feengurz iz a guud naem fur hoet dawgz. U like my koestum an my shoewz? Woew! *taekz eerpluegz* I proemis, tho I doen't noew whut ur taelkin abot. Hannon le! *seandz u sum elbin lub*
Space-Case 7029: U neber noew whut al weel git entu nekzt, due u? She iz suech a trublemaekur. I theenk we ar goen boewleeng agin dis weakend. I'm glaed u like my Teenkie-Weenkie koestum! *skweeziz u*
Katani Petitedra: Ureeka iz an eggsklamashun of triyumfant acheevmint. Huem. . . I like dat wurd onomatopeea, whur u maek uep wurdz dat meen sowndz like buezz an smaeck. *smuuch!*
Newmoon: U like da shoewz? I weesh I culd ware dem eberydae, buet da luk mite ruen owt if I deed. Soe u like my Haelowean koestum, hueh? *geeglz an bloewz u a kees*
Lady Peredhel: U bea kaerful wid doze hueman gueyz. Dey'll brake ur hart an moev oen tu keesin sum uthur gurl, taek my wurd fur it! *gievz u a beeg hueg, sense ur noet entu elves enimoer*
Holly :o) : Ur absoeluetlee rite, u muest taek hareculur entu kunsideerashun whin selekteeng boewleeng shoewz. Da majik izn't dere if da shoewz doen't mach. Whut culur shoewz due u ware? *seandz u a kees*
MagicalRachel: Dat'z rite! Nien iz da Faellowsheep nuembur! I thot dat mysef. Beafore I laeft Meedle-erth I gaev Gandalf won of doze blueweeng reensiz, an I deedn't sea enithaeng eggstra en heez beerd. Stuedee haerd! *snuegglz u*
Dunrosiel: Wear noet haeveeng issuez, ar we? *poyntz at flaemthrowr* Da peepul puet an 's' en 'lisp' soe u wuldn't theenk dey wear taelkeen abot 'leepz' which ar toetully deefrint theengz. *gievz u a kees oen da leepz* Sea?
kimmaree: I lub da Fleentstoenz! I'm noet shur my baell wuld rowel vary guud if it wuz a rok. I haed tu due dat wid al'z kaer won tiem tu git it tu goe-dat wuz fuen! *skweeziz u tite!*
Grammar Laedee: Luuk, u deed it! Oenlee won poest dis tiem! I em luukeeng foerwurd tu ur veezit nekzt weak. Sea? I em noet tuchin Leedle Peep *hoevurz indekz feengur an elf hare abuv her skeen* al tawt me dis gaem . . .heahea! *gievz u a beeeeeeeg hueg!*
VladimirsAngel: Dat iz nise elvish swaereeng! U shuld here sum of da stueff I lurned frum doze Peredhil tweenz. I like da karameal an straewburriez tuu, an da nuetz, an sum bandanaz, an hoet fuj, an u jest HAEV tu git a chaerrie oen da toep of ur ise kreem. *reechiz owt an steelz a biet of ur ise kreem frum u*
Chan: Due u like sweat peeklz tu? If u kuet uep da deel wonz en leedle sliesiz an poar owt all of da juese en da jaer, den puet da sliesiz bak en da jaer an feel it wid suegur, en a kuple of daeyz u haev da neetist taesteeng sweat-n-sowr peekulz eber! al'z graendma uzed tu due dat, an noew she duz it fur me! Waenna taeste? *eetz won an den keesiz u*
leail: Hae, kin I boerroe doze paentz? I mite nead dem dis weadeand if we goe boewleeng agin. We kin steel goe off an plae tugethur aeftur we chaeng. *taekz u bie da haend an leedz u beahiend da gaerage doar*
raukoiel: An lub! Doen't furgit da lub! I em glaed u likd Teenkie-Weenkie an my shoewz tu. al wouldn't laet me ware bowth at da saem tiem. She sed dat wuld bea tu skaerrie fur da leedle cheeldrin. *snuegglz u*
anja: Oeh, nin-mel, buet deze shoewz, dey ar soe spaeshul! Luuk hoew muech bedder I plaed wonse my baell an my shoewz machd! Hear *haendz u sum suen glaessiz* Iz dat bedder? *smuuchiz u*
Kat: Hav u sean da Tuu Toewrz yaet? Thaenk u fur da e-kard. Dat wuz nise of u tu seand it. Tael Jess I sed kungradulashunz oen gittin a stryk-dat wuz guud! Tael Jennifer she kin rite tu me tuu. *seandz sum xoxoxoxoxoxxooxoxoxoxoxxo's fur u tu shaer* Ruen faest frum doze boeyz!
Angaloth: Whut'z oedd abot an elf draessd az Teenkie-Weenkie waelkeeng doewn da streat? *holdz uep an 8 trak taep* al sez tu giv u dis. Yaeh, I wuz glaed tu git enuf of a skore en boewleeng tu git a neuw niknaem. I soerta like 'Haendsum' misef, hoew abot u? *seandz u sum lub*
PuterPatty: It's "luxUrious". And what's with all those dots? Are those drool drips? *hands you a roll of non-moldy paper towels* I'd appreciate it if you'd clean that up. *hands another roll to the Prance* And you'd better dry off too. Hey! Gimme that! *snags 8-ball from the long elven fingers* I told you not to take things that aren't yours. . . . Buet, al!! *powtz* She DUZ hoeld da #1 tikit, al. *goewz tu da freedge an gitz owt da sweat-n-sowr peekilz ensted, puetz a slieze en my mowf an suekz da shugar oeff it uenteel it'z all goen* Coem hear, baybee. I goet sumpthaeng bedder dan a deel fur u. . . .
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What happens next? Which drawer pulls will Legolas determine are most fashionable? What about the hundred little rectangular chips of countertop? And powertools . . . . will there be powertools in the Prance's future?
Stay tuned for the next exciting phase of "The Redemption of al's Kitchen"!