The couch felt warm and comfortable with the air conditioning blowing straight over my toes, cooling the air around my glass of Jim Beam, Coke, and ice, and a tall brown can of Monster Kona Coffee energy drink. I had never had an energy drink before. Something about a study that concluded your blood after downing an energy drink mirrored that of blood after a heart-attack pretty much scared me away - until now. This didn't even taste like taurine...and I got in on sale!
Truthfully, though, I was building up energy for yard work. That was what I claimed on the record but, subconsciously, I might have been attempting to end it all rather than pick up the bush trimmer and go to work.
Right. The bush trimmer. A few weeks ago, I was on one of my spending whims and decided we needed a bush trimmer for the two bushes at the end of our front sidewalk. It was only $69.99 at The Home Depot. Or was it $49.99? Who cares! It went onto a credit card at zero percent for 18 months. At least I get to play with a toy a few times a year. So we took it home.
(I must inform my readers, at this point, that I'm onto Kristine. I know she bides her time, spending little to no money, until I hit my above famous spending sprees. Then, giddily, she jumps at the chance and we blow our money together. Who am I kidding? I love it. Those are some of our happiest times. Heck, she got a new grill out of the last one.)
The trimmer sat in the garage, waiting for me to work up the motivation to remove it from the box and try as hard as I could to clip my fingers off at the second knuckle. Now, with a concoction of ginseng, caffeine, caramel color, and whiskey, I was ready. I burst out of the house in a dead run, headed for the detached garage, dodging tools, bike wheels and handles and bolts and nuts and...um...wow...Kristine was out there fixing all of our bikes, readying them for summer biking trips.
I shrugged, knowing she's better at that "man's" work anyway. She has singlehandedly re-claimed auto repair and welding into the female column of society. I'm not exactly the best ambassador to the male persuasion. Stack me up against her and I lose in a black belt fight every day and twice on Sunday.
But I have a bush trimmer!
Entering the garage, I leapt a stack of firewood and landed in a group of mud pies with a stuffed animal's tail sticking out of one of them. Shaking the goo off my slippers, I opened a cupboard and pulled out the coolest utility knife known to man. Then, I sliced open the trimmer box and pulled the slice of heaven out.
The trimmer was in two pieces. The trimmer and then some sort of yellow something or other with a stamp on it that said it helped swipe away debris while you trimmed. By this time, I had an audience of six lively children. I took the yellow thingy in my right hand, and the trimmer in my left and looked at the set for a minute. Then, I attempted to slide it onto the blade, where I thought it went.
"No Daddy! Not like that."
The voice came from Frederic (7).
"Oh? But, it looks like it's supposed to slide on like this," I said as I tried to slide the yellow plastic cheap thingy on, ending up bouncing the ball of my right hand off the blade as the yellow plastic slid off of the nonexistent slot I was searching for.
"No Daddy! Here..."
And with one swift motion, Frederic grabbed the trimmer and the plastic piece out of my hands and slid it together. It was now obvious what needed to have been done - and I was incredulous. All I could do was laugh.
Frederic's chest visibly doubled in size and his lips burst into one of his beautiful smiles. I giggled some more.
"How the heck did you know how to do that?!," I asked.
"The picture on the box!"
Of course.
Truthfully, though, I was building up energy for yard work. That was what I claimed on the record but, subconsciously, I might have been attempting to end it all rather than pick up the bush trimmer and go to work.
Right. The bush trimmer. A few weeks ago, I was on one of my spending whims and decided we needed a bush trimmer for the two bushes at the end of our front sidewalk. It was only $69.99 at The Home Depot. Or was it $49.99? Who cares! It went onto a credit card at zero percent for 18 months. At least I get to play with a toy a few times a year. So we took it home.
(I must inform my readers, at this point, that I'm onto Kristine. I know she bides her time, spending little to no money, until I hit my above famous spending sprees. Then, giddily, she jumps at the chance and we blow our money together. Who am I kidding? I love it. Those are some of our happiest times. Heck, she got a new grill out of the last one.)
The trimmer sat in the garage, waiting for me to work up the motivation to remove it from the box and try as hard as I could to clip my fingers off at the second knuckle. Now, with a concoction of ginseng, caffeine, caramel color, and whiskey, I was ready. I burst out of the house in a dead run, headed for the detached garage, dodging tools, bike wheels and handles and bolts and nuts and...um...wow...Kristine was out there fixing all of our bikes, readying them for summer biking trips.
I shrugged, knowing she's better at that "man's" work anyway. She has singlehandedly re-claimed auto repair and welding into the female column of society. I'm not exactly the best ambassador to the male persuasion. Stack me up against her and I lose in a black belt fight every day and twice on Sunday.
But I have a bush trimmer!
Entering the garage, I leapt a stack of firewood and landed in a group of mud pies with a stuffed animal's tail sticking out of one of them. Shaking the goo off my slippers, I opened a cupboard and pulled out the coolest utility knife known to man. Then, I sliced open the trimmer box and pulled the slice of heaven out.
The trimmer was in two pieces. The trimmer and then some sort of yellow something or other with a stamp on it that said it helped swipe away debris while you trimmed. By this time, I had an audience of six lively children. I took the yellow thingy in my right hand, and the trimmer in my left and looked at the set for a minute. Then, I attempted to slide it onto the blade, where I thought it went.
"No Daddy! Not like that."
The voice came from Frederic (7).
"Oh? But, it looks like it's supposed to slide on like this," I said as I tried to slide the yellow plastic cheap thingy on, ending up bouncing the ball of my right hand off the blade as the yellow plastic slid off of the nonexistent slot I was searching for.
"No Daddy! Here..."
And with one swift motion, Frederic grabbed the trimmer and the plastic piece out of my hands and slid it together. It was now obvious what needed to have been done - and I was incredulous. All I could do was laugh.
Frederic's chest visibly doubled in size and his lips burst into one of his beautiful smiles. I giggled some more.
"How the heck did you know how to do that?!," I asked.
"The picture on the box!"
Of course.
Here is where you tell Frederic that if he knows so much about the bush trimmer, he can use it himself. :p
ReplyDeleteAnd that's exactly why I never tell my mother I like to do X or Y anymore :P
DeleteYay for Frederic! *wild applause*
ReplyDeleteKristine's so badass - I want to be like her when I grow up. Is there anything she CAN'T do? I,like the average female, knows NOTHING about car repair, although I CAN change a tire in 10 minutes by myself. For one thing, my stepfather wouldn't let us kids get a license until we were learned in the art of tire-changing, and also I was the kind of driver who flattened many a tire and therefore had plenty of practice...
ReplyDeleteDrinking and operating power equipment. Darwin award is being prepped already.
ReplyDeleteI can only laugh hysterically. :D
ReplyDelete