My wife has found a man called Mark who can build cupboards in the bedroom above the kitchen: the bedroom the middle one moved out of; the one my wife wants us to move into.
“Across the whole wall?” I say. “Why?”
“It will double our storage,” my wife says.
“It would be cheaper to throw away half our stuff,” I say.
Mark never says things like this. Mark says: “Yeah, that’s no problem” and draws a picture of four floor-to-ceiling cupboards – two with drawers inside – on the back of a scrap of wallpaper.
“What kind of handles?” my wife says.
“Any kind of handles you want,” says Mark. “It’s no problem.”
For obvious
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