a woman’s place is in the home (depot).

13 Aug

Honestly? What is UP with guys thinking that they are the only people on Earth who can use a screwdriver? Have they not gotten the memo that I have a pink tool kit and I know to use it?

The other day the handle on the front door of the restaurant cracked and broke, making it pretty much impossible for a customer to get inside without being really confused and a little bit creative. Harry called the door people to come down and fix it, who proceeded to charge us $330. For a handle. I told the fixit dude to GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE (a little nicer in that I didn’t drop the F bomb) and I did it myself, using a handle from a door we never use, a pair of pink pliers and a wet paper towel (MacGuyver has nothing on me). I did this all while singing showtunes and getting honked at because it was “Short Skirt Saturday” in my neck of the woods. My waiters kept asking me if I needed help. Harry said he’d do it in a few minutes. My dad offered to come down and do it if I couldn’t figure it out. Does he not realize I am his child?? I fix shit. Like all the time. Like I use my pink tool box more than you use your manly blue one. Like I know what’s down every aisle at Home Depot. Like the people who work there say hi to me when I come in. Like I use the self checkout even if I’m buying a piece of wood that’s taller than me. OK? So take your man parts and your socket wrenches and let me change my own damn lightbulbs. K?

In an odd turn of gender stereotypes, Harry was gifted with a new washer and dryer for his 35th birthday (punishment for not paying close enough attention to my blog is that I out Harry’s age, and if he doesn’t take heed, I’ll tell you his middle name and his mom’s nickname for him. So maybe you should do us all a favor and warn him) by his incredibly generous daddy-o. He couldn’t have been more excited to drop a load into his new machine and I couldn’t have been more excited for him to finally figure out where in the house we keep these useful appliances. The day after they were installed, I was informed that Harry had requested that my birthday gift be an iron to “complete” our new and improved laundry room.

“Why the fuck would I get an iron?” I asked my father-in-law when he told me. “I mean, in my world, there is literally no difference between an iron and a dryer.”

This statement led us into a deep discussion over the actual differences between a brand new steam dryer and an iron. Here’s what we came up with:

1. You can’t throw a dryer at your husband when he does something stupid.

2. You can’t make toast with a dryer. Also you can’t make grilled cheese.

3. You can’t dry your sneakers with an iron unless you want them to melt and/or light on fire.

4. You can’t get all the wrinkles out of a king size sheet with an iron because you would get way too tired and the TV show you’re watching would end and you’d have nothing to do.

5. You can’t use your dryer as a door stop.

6. You can’t get yelled at for ruining your husband’s favorite dress shirt for letting the dryer sit on it for too long and causing a burn.

7. A dryer won’t spurt water all over your otherwise dry shit.

8. If your iron breaks you don’t need to refinance your mortgage to afford a new one.

9. I use dryers, I don’t use irons.

10. You can crease pants with an iron, not a dryer. Luckily we don’t generally integrate creases in our everyday lives.

In other news, I’m sitting on my ass doing nothing and writing this post while Harry and his dad paint the basement in preparation for a new carpet delivery tomorrow, during which time I will also sit on my ass doing nothing. Just because I can do something doesn’t mean it isn’t fun to watch someone else do it. Duh.

Also, my 9-year-old stepkid said “douchebag” today and felt really bad when I informed him that that is a bad word. I felt like a good parent because a) he feels bad when he says bad words and b) I told him that he can use the word, but not around parents and teachers.


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