Too long for twitter, too short to call an actual entry

The nagging progression:

“Honey, where does this tool (left sitting on the half door at the top of the stairs for over a week) belong? Oh, in the tool box in the basement? Can you make sure it gets put away because a giant chisel-looking thing plus three boys is just disaster waiting to happen.”

One week later: the chisel reappears on the living room coffee table. “Honey? Can you put that gigantic chisel thing away?”

Five days later: the chisel has made it to the kitchen counter. Either we’re on the verge of millionairedom because that tool has the ability to move from room to room on its own, or I’m about to flame into “HONEY? I NEED to NOT see that motherfucking tool in its not-put-away state for ANOTHER MOTHERFUCKING MILLISECOND.”

MIGRATING TOOL UPDATE HERE – IT MADE PHOTO OF THE DAY, IT’S SO SPECIAL:

Gaze upon my husband’s tool, noting that it’s at least 12″ long. Don’t be jealous.

Note also, if you can see the black marks at the tip–just the tip–that he also stuck it into an electrical outlet while punching through new drywall in the basement. Turns out two fuses control our basement family room, not just one. So not only can my husband’s tool magically, over a period of days, migrate from room to room, but it’s also apparently a Chisel of Life, Protector From DIY Home Improvement Death That Might Be Humorous But Not Quite Yukkish Enough to Make the Darwin Awards.

I’m thinking I don’t need to say what I’m grateful for today. I’ll be in the kitchen, offering thanks to The Chisel.

Filed under "You Look Beautiful In the Candlelight, Buddy", Antonia Domesticata | Comment (1)