David had hauled out the miter saw, getting ready to go to work on the new tops for the tables we keep poolside (doesn’t that make us sound all richie-rich, using words like “poolside?” Like we walk around saying, “Oh, just bring me that martini poolside, dahling, and be sure to make it a dirty,” when we’re really like, “Dude, will you throw me a beer out of that cooler? Try not to get the cap in the water, man. Thanks.”). We were so happy about a week ago. We’d replaced our old pool furniture with some snazzier stuff (and by snazzier, I mean they weren’t plastic and covered with mildew). And because nothing says “luxury” like prowling the discounted inventory at Lowe’s in mid-July, we also ended up getting a couple of little tables. Yes, they had glass in their tops, and yes, it is a ridiculously stupid idea to put glass on top of concrete mere feet away from the pool, the liner of which you spent about a bazillion dollars to replace just two years ago, but…