I was equipped with powerful tools. Upon discovering that said tools are taller than I am, said tools were unceremoniously stripped from my mighty paws and I was set to other tasks.
But I get ahead of myself. Our story starts at 7:30 am EST, when cheerful people arrived at my domocile.

They immediately set to work after I took several substandard “before” photos of the kitchen.
Why is there blue paint on some of the cabinets you ask? Why is one of the cabinets a giant hole? Why does magnetic poetry litter the floor? Pesky questions! The blue was a successful test (more on that later, I most solemnly vow.) The giant hole indicates that demolition started before I began documentation. We believe the magnetic poetry was our refrigerator’s last attempt at communication before we sent it to a better home.
But I digress. Demolition began. It was loud. I was not supplied with monkey sized earmuffs.
My beloved Mexican tiles will be the last to go. Oh tiles, how I loved you. How many photos were taken over the years in front of these very tiles. The many sophisticated meals I made with these very tiles as my backdrop.



Entire cabinets disappeared quickly, much like Santa, whisking himself up the chimney. The now naked walls left behind an archeological record of paint, wallpaper, and ill advised decorating choices.

Farewell old kitchen. Our memories of you shall live on, and the memories of our less successful culinary efforts shall live on as records at the emergency room.


Wild….
Your hot chocolate came out so much better than mine.
I beg to differ. You say tomato, I say tomahhhhhhto.