Road Trip

I’d say it started simply and innocently enough. The Venetian blind leading to the back porch wouldn’t lower. Jammed tight as dehydrated booger in an arid nostril. I knew how to fix this and didn’t even stop to think of the impending disaster.

The blind, totally covered in an exquisite blanket of dust, hair and the occasional microscopic Lego component, was just a squeench* more difficult to remove than I’d anticipated. Complimenting the aforementioned crustage, was a generous helping of Carolina Beach sand/rust/grit. Add to that the fact that the chair I was standing on has survived innumerable assaults by TeamSki³ , and you begin to get the picture.

The focus grows sharper when the fact that my unusual arsenal of tools has dwindled to one pair of particularly flimsy scissors. Razor sharp, but desperately in need of whatever tool Viagra there is out there. (You do the math)

For nearly an hour, perched high atop a the chair from hell, the battle raged. Credit, where credit is due—at  no time did I hear the blind mumble even the mildest of curses. The air around me snapped a brilliant, profane blue, as the result of my own efforts to encourage the blind to relinquish its hold on the door.

As is the case with most out-of-your-own-zip-code heroes, I eventually managed to tame the  unruly blind and gently lower it to ground level. I am relatively positive that he 4 inch gouge in the carpet, as well as the rip in the couch were already there before I started.

After an hour of brain-surgery caliber work, employing only the blue-light-special scissors, I was able to delicately pummel the fragile mechanisms of the blind into place and tame the delicate components, into a meticulous harmony of efficiency.

It actually worked.

I believe that the truest of craftsmen always leave the work-site tidier that they found it. To that end, I gently swabbed a lightly moistened towel over the area upon which I battled. The result was dazzling, inspiring, and truly just a whole swoop cleaner than the rest of the door.

In an effort to bring about a more visually enhancing effect, I washed the entire door, cleaned the window and swept the floor in the immediate area of my meager and misguided efforts.

As I returned the towel to the kitchen, my eye detected a small smudge on a cabinet door. Without thinking, I quickly (and effectively, if I do say so, myself) swabbed the offending smudge. The gleam of that clean spot shone like the only star in a night sky.

For the next two and one half hours, I scrubbed the hodgepodge collection of dirt, grime, mud, boogers and kid-juice, that only the under-four-foot crowd can create.

It started so innocently.

It’s now only a few minutes after noon, and I’m drinking wine and nibbling on DoubleStuff Oreos.

Someday, I’ll learn my lesson.

* squeench (adj.) an incredibly small amount (one of my Dad's favorite words)

`