Did you ever have the experience when you were driving down a road you had traveled many times and suddenly noticed something you hadn't noticed before? And it had been there all the time? Or you were in a building you had been in many times and suddenly noticed something about the decor you hadn't ever noticed before? Well, the decor thing doesn't happen to me very often. I'm a person that notices decor. When we leave a restaurant, I can usually describe the pictures on the walls, the light fixtures and the color of the carpeting; Steve can tell you about the people at the other tables and what they were wearing and eating. So, it's funny that I walked through the door (in the background of the next photo) so many times without really seeing it.
That's the door leading from the laundry room into the garage. (I know that's an old photo, but it's the only one I could find.) Yes, I knew the door had some protective plastic on it with "FIRE DOOR" in all caps, but I had never read the fine print. I was in the laundry room last week when I suddenly noticed that fine print - instructing the installer to remove the protective plastic coating within 48 hours of installation. 48 hours?! Oh no! That door was installed well over a year ago! I was horrified! What was the significance of 48 hours anyway? The door had obviously not imploded after it passed that 48-hour mark. Was the plastic coating so adhered to the door by now that it would never come off? Ever? My mind was racing. Something had to be done, and it had to be done immediately! I obviously couldn't wait for Steve to come back up to the house from the barn for a consultation, so I had to take matters into my own hands. I quickly scanned the door - checking for a torn spot on the protective coating - a spot where I could begin peeling off that plastic layer. Got it!
And I peeled. . .
and peeled. . .
and peeled. . .
until the door looked like this.
To be honest, that only took a few minutes - literally - both sides. It came off easily. Easy schmeasy. Not even any residue left behind. No big deal. My heart rate returned to normal. What was with that 48-hour warning anyway? Scaring a person half to death for nothing.
As long as I was in the laundry room, I hung up my patriotic wreath.
Yeah, it's on the window. I have a multitude of door hangers (both suction cup and over-the-door types), but they're still packed somewhere - in the basement. I was lucky to find the wreath.
All is well in the Keweenaw.