(Warning: The following
is based on a true story. This normally happens sometime in spring. It could happen in a garage near you.)
My Wife: “When are you going to clean out this
garage? Look at this mess!”
Me: “I’ll get
to it. I’m just looking for something out here.”
Wife: “It’s
all junk. What’s this metal thing?”
Me: “I don’t know, but I’m going to save it. I may need it sometime.”
Wife: “When
was the last time you needed it? You don’t even know what it is.”
Me: “It looks important and if I toss it I’ll probably wish I had it the
day after I toss it. That’s a universal law.”
Wife: “When
you die, the kids are just going to throw all this stuff out. You should do
them a favor and get rid of it all now. The garage is supposed to be for cars.”
Me: “We can fit a car in here. I can move this stuff around. I’ll build
some shelves.”
Wife: “Come
on…when have you ever built anything.
The last time you changed a light switch you didn’t turn off the power
and melted the screwdriver.”
Me: “You yelled at the dog and my hand jerked. But shelves are easy.”
Wife: “Just
think…if you toss this junk out it’ll make you feel clean, free, and unburdened
and it’ll make me feel better too. I can’t even walk around in here.”
Me: “That’s not true. You can walk around in here. Look – there’s a little
path over there. If you follow that path you’ll find my old Triumph motorcycle.
The one I rode around Europe back in the 60’s.
You just have to work your way around
things, but be sure to stay on the trail.”
Wife: “That’s
ridiculous. I’m not going back there. It
looks like a rat tunnel or something. There could be a dead body in here and
you’d never know it.”
Me: “I’d smell it.”
Wife: “Seriously.
How do you know there aren’t animals living in here? Or upstairs?
It’s even worse upstairs and I can’t even get to the stairs.”
Me: “Good.
Don’t try it. You’ll never make it back
alive. There’s something very big living up there. If you stop talking and listen you can hear
it breathing.”
Wife: “Don’t
say things like that. You’re scaring me.
I just want to find a mop. Where can I find a mop?”
Me: “Just follow that little path and keep your eyes peeled. And carry this
knife.”
Wife: “If I
follow your stupid path I may never be seen again.”
Me: “Go for it…”
Wife: “Seriously.
It’s like a black hole in space. You should carry a cell phone when you’re out
here in the garage and some water in case you get lost. What’s in this box?”
Me: “That’s my old Cub Scout uniform.”
Wife: “Here.
Put that Cub Scout hat on.”
Me: “Looks good doesn’t it?”
Wife: “It
barely covers your bald spot.”
Me: “Yeah. It is a little small. I
must have had a small head.”
Wife: “Now why
in the world would you save something like that? That must go back to the 40’s.
Do you think you’re going to need it someday?”
Me: “The kids may want to have their dad’s Cub Scout uniform to show the
grandkids. You never know. It’s got sentimental value and it’s an antique.”
Wife: “Speaking
of antiques…”
Me: “See that old duffle bag? That has all my old army stuff in it. I can’t
toss something like that. And that box of clothes…when I lose weight I can wear
those again. ‘Waste not, want not.’
Didn’t old Ben say that?”
Wife: “That’s
ridiculous. I’m sure you would look great in a polyester leisure suit, a white
belt and white shoes.”
Me: “Look. This was my first baseball mitt. I got this when I was about 8
years old.”
Wife: “We need
to get you into therapy.”
Me: “Hey. People in China
Wife: “Well
why don’t you send it to them and get it out of the garage so we can get the
car in here?”
Me: “I don’t think
they have Cub Scouts in China
Wife: “You’re
a sick puppy. Your daughter said they have medication for your condition.”
Me:
“It’s too late for that…”
Wife: “Ralph!”
Me: “Okay, okay. I’ll start working on it tomorrow. Nah, there’s a baseball
game on tomorrow. Maybe next weekend. No. Can’t do it then either. Maybe this
summer when it warms up. Or…
Wife: “I
give up. I’m going back in the house.”
Me: “Hell
of an idea.”
Having heard Gayle mumble about not going inside the garage, and you quickly backing the 'tank' out so we could get in last summer I understand that there is indeed a true amount of friction between you two about this.
ReplyDeleteBy the way I didn't know there was an upstairs. Glad you didn't let on about the sounds of breathing with me sleeping so close to the garage.
Ralph, you are in need of therapy, at least.
Malcolm - I didn't want to tell you about those sounds coming from upstairs in the garage. If I had, your car would still be there and you would have hired a pilot to fly you out of Quincy.
ReplyDeleteIt's too late for therapy. A lobotomy is the only option left, but I enjoy insanity.
When you're through with your garage, you can come and clean out mine... or better yet, let 's follow the practice of some Indian tribes who traded their sons off to a male member of their family somewhere around puberty. The "uncle" finished the job of raising the son. And, Dad, raised someone else's son. So... here's what I propose: YOU CLEAN MY GARAGE OUT AND I WILL CLEAN YOURS. Eh?
ReplyDeleteIf I clean it out, I'll have nowhere to hide.
ReplyDeleteBeen there, done that!
ReplyDeleteOne advantage I have - I have seen your garage! Fascinating, it is! Much history in that garage! I think I even saw Jimmy Hoffa buried in the back!
You're a witness, Ed. My garage is not as bad as I described it. Actually, I've been able to fit a couple of cars, two motorcycles, a library of books, and living quarters for Amelia Earhart, although I haven't seen her lately. Maybe that wasn't Jimmy Hoffa that you saw... You're also a witness to the fact that I never exaggerate.
ReplyDeleteOf course you do not exaggerate! You know where exaggerators go!
DeleteAny garage that you could park a motor home on a Lincoln frame in can't be that bad!
Uh oh...Sounds like I'm in trouble, Ed.
ReplyDelete