Tuesday, June 8, 2010

Reason #274 Why I'll Keep The Man

Disclaimer: It's *that* time again, Friends, Tramalamadingdong time! Okay not really. I decided that the REAL narcotic was far safer for me than the FAKE narcotic, given that the fake one made me hallucinate and dream while I was technically awake. As I told my mom, I really DON'T want to know what my brain is thinking while I'm thinking about something else. Yeah. Wrap your head around THAT. So, you've been warned...

Lately, my biff K. Jo and I have been working the phrase "Go to hell in a hand bag" into our conversations. We're very theatrical (she, actually possessing of a Theater Degree - and Sammo wept -) so one of us will say something and the other will shout "Go to hell!" and the other will reply "In a handbag!" Trust me, it's totally hilarious. If we're in rare form, we'll discuss the type of handbag, and suggest bedazzling it.

So for all the times I would actually suggest to The Man that HE go to hell in a bedazzled Coach handbag, THIS is one reason (of many) why I will keep Captain America around.

Ready? Here is Visual Aide Numero Uno...

Right now, you're all "hey, what gives, that's just your deck."

Well. Yeah. It is my deck NOW. Before, my deck was the Ghetto Deck, that a team of drunken crack monkeys had assembled, using scrap lumber and their stellar imaginations. There were spots without support posts, which would theoretically work somehow, if it hadn't been, ohhhhh, fifteen feet off the ground. Instead of decorative (and functional) spindles, there were boards nailed to the outside, with one gap just big enough for a small child to walk off into oblivion. It was ugly and spongy and dangerous, Friends.

Until The Man unleashed his wicked carpentry skills (and enlisted the help of a neighbor and co-worker). Here he is, with a saw-type thing (bwhahaaaa, wasn't that an STP song?!)

(Doesn't he look capable and virile? I know!)

I have a lot of lady friends who despair because their husbands, and I quote directly from one such friend "can't change the damned batteries in the remote!" I'm an old-fashioned girl, despite my random feminist ranting. I want my man to kill spiders, get up at 3 am to defend our fortress and my golly, build me a sturdy deck that I can decorate with container plants and tiki torches.

Despite all the reasons I would gladly chuck him in a handbag sometimes (including, but not limited to, the argument we had that culminated in me pouring Gatorade on his head) I will keep him and his handy self around.

And I'll sip Gatorade, while on my fancy new deck.

Comments, questions, build anything lately?