Red Dress and a Drill

“What’s my drill doing in the trash?” my husband asked. The look on his Man Face alerted me to the fact that he was desperately searching for a reason he might likely understand. And he was holding his drill as though it was a priceless work of art, in two hands.

My problem with having a broken down house is that everyone else seems to have a Guy. I’m supposed to walk into lumber yards, door stores, hardware stores, and myriad other time-wasting places simply to shop and “my guy” will be in to do the hard stuff. I don’t have a guy. My guy is never coming fellas. It’s just me. I’m the guy and I don’t get it, most of the time.

“The drill’s broken,” I said. “I tried to screw a fence board back into place and the drill wouldn’t cooperate. It just wouldn’t screw so I chucked it in the rubbish where it would be more at home and at peace.” He looked at me for such a long moment, speechless, that I almost laughed but he had one hand on his hip and his mouth was hanging open so I figured there would be some information forthcoming that I wouldn’t like.

“Do you see this button?” he asked. I looked. I saw. I didn’t have a clue.
“When you move this button up and down,” said the Manly Man, “the drill will screw in and out. You had it in reverse.”

I was immediately in awe of technology. I had no idea that drills could go in reverse.

“Don’t touch my tools,” he said.

“Well…yeah…but I’m the Guy,” I said. “I’m fixing the fixer-upper. Guys need tools.”

“You’ve lost two sets of screwdrivers. How do you do that?” He asked. “It’s not like you’re wandering around the house with a tool belt on.”

“If I had a tool belt maybe I wouldn’t lose things because I could put them right back from where I took them, a place just slightly north of my ass,” I said. Peevishly I admit.

Pretty Toes and a Drill

My favorite Husband/Guy conversations:

“Dear, what is that god awful stink?” he asked as the stench of burning flesh came off the grill.
“It’s my compost sweetie. How can you smell it with all that greasy, burning flesh smell?”

“Dear, are you using power tools out there?”
“No, I’m not. But I also smell something burning. It’s not me this time.

“Dear, didn’t you measure these doors when you got them?”
“Yes I did. I measured from the top to the hole they cut for the doorknob. It never occurred to me they’d take a standard size door and lop off the bottom assuming we had carpeting.”

“Dear, do you have another left side door knob?”
“No I don’t. I didn’t know it mattered which side was which.”

“Dear, are you using tin snips for that?”
“Yes I am because they cut this stuff and we don’t seem to be cutting a lot of tin lately.”

“Dear, are those our steak knives out in the garden?”
“Those are my tools. Don’t touch them.”