My Critical Mistake

 I Made a Critical Mistake

Before going on to the next chapter of my travel companion and my flu-season slash election-year Americana road trip I have a confession to make.  I really screwed up.  

For many years now, my travel companion offered little resistance to my avoidance of manual labor. This is outside of say, opening the door or helping get the suitcases in the overhead bins.  We lived in a downtown high-rise where I could call someone if my towel rack was wobbly or a lightbulb  needed replacing.  I did every thing I could think of to imprint upon her mind that there was simply no use in asking me to saw a piece of wood or use a screw driver because I lacked any skill.  Instead, she would do it.  I wore a suit jacket every day and multicolored socks.  When I sipped on a glass of wine or a cup of coffee my pinky finger was purposely extended towards the casual observer across the table.  When we camp outdoors I set up the kitchen, get something to drink, and watch my travel companion put up the tent while timing her with my Swiss-made Sea Dweller II.  Even after purchasing a house, I managed to hire contractors with the simple personal task of lifting a pen to write them a check.  Life could not be much better.

And then I made a crucial mistake that I now regret.

It was a hot summer day, there were face masks all over the floor, and I ran out of Great British Baking episodes on Netflix.  I was bored.  It is a personality flaw of mine — a very large flaw — I am not the best at being bored. When I first get just a tiny feeling of boredom I tell my travel companion,

“You know, I used to be sexy and powerful.”

She gives me the overly practiced little laugh on moves on the to the NYTimes crossword puzzle.  

This time, she was not in sight, my dog was sound asleep, and the cats nowhere to be found. I lacked any ability to complain.

So, being the idiot I am during my boredom state, I decided to go to HomeDepot. I think even my friends in Spain or Germany who are reading this and who might not even appreciate HomeDepot or other crucial brands like Whataburger know the stupidity of this move.

Still bored, I bought a table saw, construction screws, and around twenty 2x4’s. That is slang for a piece of wood that are one and a half inches thick and three and a half inches wide. Somehow over the centuries timber yards across America have been able to propagate this marketing lie.  Knowingly, I packed my saw and my 20 2x4x8’s into Betsy (my Subaru which hit the 100K mile mark just a few days ago).  For those going to HomeDepots to purchase 2x4's for the first time remember the 2 and the 4 are in inches and the 8 is in feet so you won’t get laughed at for asking “where are the  2x4x96’s?”.

Without expanding on too much detail I spent the rest of the day, while smoking a cigar or two,  making a work bench in the garage.  When it was all said and done it was a pretty good piece of work. I was happy.  

My travel companion came into the garage and interviewed me and my bench.  There were three or four pertinent questions and then she walked back into the house.

A few hours later we ate dinner in front of the TV.  She handed me a list.  “What is this?” I asked.

“I am very proud of your bench,” she said.  “I had no idea you could do that. You are very sexy and powerful. Here,” she pointed, “we need a deck in the back by the fountain, the shelves stained in the office, some new lights in front of the house, our mailbox needs reworking, and there’s a leak near the skylight.  Oh, and fire the gardener.”

Next we will continue our journey west.