The Tool Rule
 
Life of a Rock Star Humor Wit Satire & Fun
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By Nicole Hanratty Satirical Commentary
 
 
I was alone. I was handling it. It was all going perfect until...my husband came home. The dog needed a little rug to lie on outside in the back yard while she sunbathes during the day. I found a scrap of new carpeting in the garage to place outside the door and was in the midst of cutting it down to her little size. I was feeling like Martha Stewart with a tool belt! Slow and steady, straight and easy my scissors were cutting across the carpet. I was about three inches in when the front door opened. I knew that instant my project would be highjacked. If tools are going to be wielded in our home, my sweet hubby insists he should be doing the job. While hunched over my still-in-tact project, I considered presenting an argument or staging a protest that scissors, although sharp, are a daily instrument--not worthy of inclusion in a tool box--and therefore not subject to his Royal Edict. I know you’re thoroughly confused reading this, wondering why I am sweating over surrendering the scissors. You’re thinking it’s chivalrous that he is going to offer to intervene and take over the manly job of cutting down the rug. But I am only considering how much faster I can start cutting to salvage my project before he gets his well-meaning but every time without fail sabotaging hands on it. The dog greets him at the door and buys me a few more minutes, but not long enough. The scissors can’t cut more than one notch at a time. I see his shoes and I look up to see his grin. He’s smiling ear to ear, so excited that he can lean down, swoop up the scissors and handle this for me in a very manly fashion. He’s too adorable for me to deny. The last thing I say before I close my eyes and walk away is, “Just keep it straight, please.” A few minutes later, he calls me outback to show me that he has finished the job. “All done,” he boasts with his chest inflated along with his testosterone level. I can only shake my head. He turned my straight line into a circular driveway. The edge looked more like a half moon than a horizon. I bang my head against the wall as I simultaneously kick myself for not hiding the scissors behind my back as soon as I heard the key turn the lock on the front door. My husband laughs, realizing he has done it again. After a trip to the tool box and a significant size reduction, the little rug emerges with an edge so straight it can be used as a level. But the message is loud and clear. All future projects need to be completed upstairs by me in the laundry room--where my manly-man is sure to never roam. Au revoir for now...n 2008 Copyright Nicole Hanratty The Tool Rule by Nicole Hanratty
Monday, October 27, 2008
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