There is nothing more attractive about my husband than when he loves on our babies, or does man things. Man things include the following:
- Screwing in light bulbs ( I don’t want to get electrocuted, can you help me?
- Changing the oil ( I can’t do this. Like , ever. Where do you buy oil? )
- Mowing the yard ( I can’t start the mower. What if I run over a bunny again? )
- Opening the pickle jar ( help I’m so weak and frail, and I really want a dill pickle. )
- Using tools of any sort. ( I don’t know the names of tools. Only that he keeps them hidden from me for my safety. )
We are all aware that when you ask a man to hang up something inside your home that needed to be done yesterday, this can take up to 2-7 years. There is a waiting list, and an enrollment fee for who knows what and you may die before it is hung up. In fact by the time it is hanging on your precious wall it doesn’t match your new decor.
Why am I talking about man things and tools today?
Thank you for asking me. I just spent an hour of my nighttime / free play holding up one of those things that has a name , something like a box truck. Or a fork lift. It’s called a hand truck, or hand lift. Either way, I had to stand in a puddle of dirty water , wearing SOCKS while my husband fixed the washer. Aren’t there people that fix these things for a living?
All was right with the world. I walked downstairs into the basement to smell the fresh and yet suffocating scent of the woodstove burning. Holding our ten week old Lab puppy, I went to see if the laundry was done. Rocking him side to side and bouncing like he was a newborn ( BECAUSE HE IS ) my husband yet again reminded me that he was not a baby. I reminded him again that the only person in this house that can cook a decent meal is me, and that he must shut it before I start buying Banquet meals.
I walked into the laundry room, when suddenly I noticed it. Water rushing out of the washer like it was going on summer vacation after taking the PSAT. Which, if you are in High school reading this.. skip that day. It’s pointless. Go to the mall or something. It’s not like I did that. Moving on.
” BABE! THERE IS WATER RUNNING OUT OF THE THING!”
” WHAT THING?”
He knows better than to ask me these sort of questions in the state of emergency. I didn’t go to college.
Before I knew it I was HELPING him do MAN things. I was supposed to be watching Downton Abbey and drinking Merlot.
Somehow he knew what needed to be fixed, and I was in charge of holding up the washer with a hand lift, or truck. Hand fork. Whatever. It was heavy.
He kept going to and from the garage to the laundry room retrieving more tools than I knew he owned. They call it the hand truck for a reason. Your hands get so tired. Although my hands weren’t as tired as my brain watching him do whatever it was he was doing. From side to side of the washer he began fixing things. How does one know how to fix a washer? Just because he was born a boy means he has the knowledge to fix all things manly?
Yes, yes it does.
My foot on the truck thing, and my arms holding it up, muscles began to suddenly form on my arms. I understood what it felt like to work out in a gym of sorts. With no competition for this contest i was in to hold up the washer the longest, I won. I knew I would win.
It was then he caught me. Drooling a bit, with my head to the side. A school girl look on my no make up face. Our eyes met as he smiled at me, it was too bad he knows what I look like under this sweatsuit. Poor man.
It wasn’t long before he fixed it. I am not sure how he did such a thing, as all I noticed was a few different tools, a few native Indian dances around the said washer, and before I knew it it was fixed.
I think I know why the tools are in a location I am not aware of.
It’s called birth control.