So yesterday I spent the entire day working in that damn yard, getting it ready for winter. Like I give two shits if everything green just up and died. For my efforts, I have shoulders that feel like I’ve been lifting fire trucks and humvees. The good news is that I didn’t seem to get into any poison ivy for once, so you don’t have to listen to me bitch about that for the next three weeks.
Hubs and I had a “project” to do this weekend. Our stupid garage door opener decided to die a swift and unpredicted death last week. I called around and most places wanted $100 to $150 in labor to put up a new one. I called hubs to ask his opinion because I usually don’t mess with anything electrical. If I wanted to get electrocuted I’d just murder someone and get the chair. There are a number of potential murder victims on my list, just in case you are wondering. Anyhow, hubs seemed to think that paying someone $100 or so just to put the damn thing up was too much money. Cheapskate.
We went to Home Depot to get the new opener. Let me tell you, that guy in the garage door opener aisle knew NOTHING about garage doors openers. Hubs would ask a question about the installation process and our particular set up and that guy kept unhelpfully reading the shit that was on the box to us. That asshole has no idea that he is now on my To Murder List for wasting my fucking time. My eyeballs also got really tired, not from reading the box, but from rolling them to the ceiling every time that guy opened his ignorant yap.
So on Saturday, hubs got up, and went where all manual laborers go to breakfast, Starbucks. After his intake of his embarrassingly metrosexual coffee, he came home to take off his dainty underthings and find his dusty Y chromosome to put to use. He even changed out of his Bolivian Sheep Herding shirt for this adventure into manhood. As he walked through the kitchen to the garage, I actually smelled a dude with purpose. He was out in the garage for about 20 seconds before he needed a band aid. After I kissed his boo boo he got back to work.
Fast forward about six god damn hours of sweat and muttering to himself, and to my surprise, the garage door opener was up! I congratulated him on this manly feat and for my minimal involvement. I asked if it worked and got a glare that set my hair on fire. Of course not, that part wasn’t done yet, so I skedaddled back into the house as fast as I could to sit on the couch, drink beer, fart, belch, and watch some more college football. About six more hours passed and by god, the garage door opener worked! I’m sure my neighbors are just as happy as I am because now they don’t have to look at that mess in my garage anymore.
I think I like role reversals most of the time. This was one of those times. Actually, I wonder if we are a gay couple and just don’t know it. I don’t know if I’m more manly or he is more girly, but in the words of Tim Gunn, we make it work.