The Squeaky Wheel Lives Forever!

When we moved into our first house in Fort Worth, I said that the first thing I was going to do was to rip out that awful 100 year old green carpeting on the 3 steps leading to our bedroom. Someone had a some point glued on a strip of really thin grey carpeting down the middle of the steps. I don't know why you would want to spend an extra cent to keep that stuff looking new. I am quite sure that particular carpet came off the line looking old. The carpet staid until the dog couldn't stand it anymore and ripped it out herself. Pretty much all in one go. 4 years had gone by and this was the project I vowed to take care of first.

We are in a new house now, and again, the first thing I was going to do was to fix the Banshee Door. Actually, first was going to be to install gas logs in the fireplace. This Christmas we gave our house the gift of gas logs. Now I just need to make the call to have them properly installed. To bad that phone isn't just a couple of inches closer.

Back to the Banshee Door. It leads to the master bathroom which at 3 a.m. and 6 a.m. is my water closet of choice. I could use the one off of the living room, but this increases my chances of stumbling over a furry animal or shoes that have (yet again!) been left in my pathway. Okay, usually the shoes are mine. Anyways.

If the door was just squeaky that would be one thing, but ours contains a family of at least 3 banshees. It happens the same every night, twice a night. I carefully pull the door open, but the first and youngest banshee has been waiting for me and starts the alarm. 3 inches is not wide enough for me to squeeze through, and so I open the door wider hoping the sound does not get worse. But no, the second banshee has awoken, adds her voice to the first and then wakes up the third sister. Shrieks are coming from the hinges so loudly and shrilly that the dog who sleeps outside 2 houses down starts barking. Karl is always awake when I crawl back into bed. All who hear the banshee cry are cursed.

Somehow, the only time I can remember to buy WD-40 is when I have just opened that awful door. Sleep erases all memory of their hauntings. Today is pretty much the first day that I have been able to retain what occurred during the night and I know what must be done. My only chore for the day is to go to the hardware store, buy the WD-40, possibly get it blessed, and then apply it to the door. Please, please, let me remember to do all of this one thing today.

Update: January 31, 2011
WD-40 has still not been bought. It is now time to go to bed. The Banshee Door Survives another night.