I had been thinking about the upcoming evening, and the festivities that it promised all day. As I stood at the copy machine watching the light slowly slide from one end to the other, I thought of all the cheerful children meandering from home to home like oh so many three foot tall vagabonds. I knew, deep within my heart that the rather “spooky” bowl I had surprised my wife with the day before would be brimming with various smile inspiring treats when I got home. The decorations had been hung for a few weeks; but the misses and I would be making quite the spectacle with our last minute preparations.
I had to stop at Home Depot after work; and as always felt rather odd parking my Prius amongst the many large, and somewhat mud covered, pickup trucks that loom so far overhead. I locked the doors and straightened my tie before entering the cavernous interior of the store. I was on a mission.
I said “Hello” to the greeter as he offered me a shopping cart and inquired as to weather I was in need of assistance. I assured him that I only needed a few things and would manage just fine on my own. We shared a smile before he gestured rather grandly for me to go and enjoy the glory that is Home Depot. I had to admit to myself that I did feel a bit like a kid in a candy store.
With the sun not even remotely threatening to set I knew I had plenty of time to stroll the isles. I stopped and inspected some of the ergonomically designed gardening equipment which is a hobby that always brings me great joy. I pondered buying a rather impressive trowel, but knew better than to be tempted by the seductive nature of it’s tapered handle. Dana, my wife, always has a rather pleasant grin on her face when she catches me admiring the instruments in question.
The wife and I have spent a lot of time haunting the isles of “The De-pot” , as we call it, over the years. Slowly, and with great care, we have been building our dream home one piece at a time. Every year a new project presents itself. As I passed the isles, and the array of items they contain, memories flooded my mind: the picket fence of 1999, the water heater of 2001, the debacle that was our roof that lasted for the following 6 years.
I had to eventually stop amusing myself with silly products and get down to business. First step: locate the duct tape. No home is complete without a full roll of duct tape. The next item, which was conveniently located right next to the duct tape, was a classic orange extension cord. Finally, I took the long stroll down to the lumber department.
The thirty some odd departments between the plywood and I gave me plenty of time to day dream. I just couldn’t wait to get home and finish our presentation for the kids. Dana and I were more than giddy with our grandiose plans for the evening. I knew for a fact that our display would be the absolute best in the neighborhood.
When the car was sufficiently wedged into the garage next to Dana’s mini van I shimmied out of the car; grabbed a hammer, and got to work. With the sun now starting on its final descent I set about nailing a few two by fours to the now naked maple that covers the majority of the lawn. With my preparations completed I stepped inside to see my love.
As she clutched me in one of the warmest embraces that any man has ever known the box cutter that I had lifted from work earlier that day slid slowly up her thigh and permanently relieved her femoral artery of it’s duties. I could tell she felt the liquid warmth flowing down her leg from the look in her eyes. She took a few, small and staggering steps backwards, holding her hands at waist level in dismay. The blood was flowing quickly from under her sun dress.
All she could do was ask “Why?”
I grinned in the soft glow of my kitchen and replied: “This will be the best Halloween ever my dear.”
That was when her legs gave way and her head bounced off of the butcher block we had bought last spring. She was just looking at me from the floor I had installed in utter dismay. It was now time to say hello to my first born child.
Getting through the flesh of her belly with the box cutter was a bit tougher than I had expected. I eventually had to head back to the garage and fetch that claw hammer for a bit of extra leverage. It was a minor operation, lasting only a few minutes; but there she was, my tiny, palm sized, daughter. She of coarse would never know the impression she was about to make.
I didn’t cut the cord; and left the hammer half in Dana’s mid section for effect. When I finally got the air compressor running I dragged the two of them into the front yard. The nail gun did a great job of tacking her hands to the two by fours but needed a great many more nails than I had expected. She was kind of slumping as opposed to the crucifixion pose I was hoping for. Again I had to head back into the garage.
I had to rummage around a bit but I found a few left over gutter nails from the roofing fiasco. I had to dig my hammer back out, which left the little one dangling at about knee level, before I could drive a few spikes into each of her shoulders. I stood back to admire my work and was wholly satisfied. With a little stool from the parlor, and the festive bowl from the day prior, the scene was complete. I retired to the porch with a cigar to wait for the children to arrive… clutching a box cutter.
Sorry guys. Ran out of time. I am moving yet again. You’ll just have to deal with the short version.