Monday, October 03, 2005

Is it still a "small adventure" if a firetruck ends up at our house?

The common consensus is that when I'm finally standing before St. Peter at the Pearly Gates my hair and clothing will still be smoking from the accidently self-induced blast that launched me from this life. Things like that just happen around me. I guess it's my innate love of BOOMS coupled with lack of interest in fine details. Speaking from an evolutionary standpoint, this is a bad mix. Actually, speaking from the view point (and shrapnel range!) of neighbors, roommates, insurance agencies, etc, this is a really bad mix. On the plus side, it does lead to some great stories.

This probably isn't one of them.

It all started innocently enough (dum dum daaaa!!). Last Saturday The Woodlands held their community garage sale. Individual garage sales are not allowed in The Woodlands, so twice a year they let their residents take over a local parking garage to sell their stuff. I've gone to this sale several times and I've come to the conclusion that rich people's junk is just a crappy as middle/low income families' junk. I did make one really great fine though, a $20 bill! SWEET!! Of course, as soon as I picked it up it was snatched by a laughing, beautiful woman who took running off down the sidewalk. I was still carrying Miniwether at the time so I couldn't give chase, besides I knew Misseswether would spend the money on something worthwhile while I'd blow it on some odd electrical device that'd just smoke and throw sparks when I took it home and plugged it in. (Hmmm, foreshadowing?)

We finished up at the garage sale with only minor damage to my wallet and my wife's Honda's supsension system. It was still early so I suggested we swing by Home Depot. I needed some new batteries form my cordless tool kit, if you were interested. Home Depot is one store where I'm incapable of surgical-strike shopping. I always have to check out the copper tubing, the newest hammer technology, chainsaws, and assorted other manhood-reaffirming items. While poking around the glue section one of the workers came up and mentioned they were having their monthly children's workshop in the back of the store. Misseswether was somewhat concerned about it being age-appropriate for Miniwether, but I was all for it. Daddies, daughters, and tools - what could possibly go wrong? (look over there, is that a quatro producing an umbra?)

Ironically, the topic of this month's workshop was "safety". Each child was issued an offical, personalized Home Depot orange apron and a wooden kit to be assembled there at the store with parents' assistance. Hammers were swung! Glue was squeezed! Misseswether was yelling frantically for me to read the directions. Over there one dad was meticulously sanding each peice before carefully nailing it in place. Misseswether panicked at that sight and started furiously (though somewhat randomly) sanding peices. Meanwhile, I had my pocketknife out and was "modifying" another piece that seemed too big. I'd hammer the nails in most of the way, then Miniwether would finish the job. She was chanting, "Fixing the canoe." while hammering, which confused some of the parents around us. I didn't feel like explaining that story to them.

Eventually we were done. One of the employees gave Miniwether a neat pin to attach to here apron stating which project she had done, then we headed out. Miniwether marched proudly in front of us showing off her project to everyone.
And that is how a firetruck ended up at our house.

Adventure! Excitement! Red herrings!

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