|Posted on March 29, 2010 at 3:52 PM|
Gentleman, beware these seven little words!
Let me just share a bit o' wisdom that I've accumulated in lo these 15 years of marriage: When your wife asks you for "a little favor" you can be sure that it will NOT be one of these three things:
1) It won't be that she wants to try out something new that she read about in Cosmo. You even thinking that it might be this will probably result in some kind of retribution, because she'll sense that you're thinking it. Be real; no matter what the title of the article is, the favor will be all yours, not hers, and she knows this.
2) It might be "I know how hard you worked all week, so do me a little favor and go sit by the pool with your iPod and let me bring you beers every 30 minutes or so. Oh, and I'll be topless." Now, if it is this, beware! This is clearly a trap and the only acceptable response to this sting operation is, "No, no. Don't be silly; you're the one who works so hard keeping the house clean and watching the kids. You go relax by the pool and let me do some straightening."
3) Finally, it won't be "little." By saying that it will be just guarantees that you're in for a real bitch of a request.
My little favor today was digging up a small bush. On the surface, it didn't look like much. There was about 6-inches of the remnants sitting above ground, looking all white and dead. But in reality, this bush was a grade-A ass punch, sprang from the loins of Lucifer hisself!
I don't have much in the way of lawn tools, pretty much a shovel, rake, broom, saw and the chainsaw I bought a couple of weeks ago. So, I grab the shovel and try kicking it under the bush and am immediately jolted by the jar of the blade slamming into a root the size of a 2-liter Coke bottle. So I keep moving out and out, but with every dig, I just hit solid root. And the root is anything but dead. It is that kind of stringy, slimy, wet wood that says I am going to fight you every step of the way, and probably even try to grow a little more while you're working on me.
So I ditch the shovel, and begin trying to cut this thing out, sawing the blade into the ground, one root at a time, and then alternating with thrusting the chainsaw into the middle of the nightmare itself and then prying little chunks loose one piece at a time with the shovel blade. On top of it all, the chainsaw has this real sweet little habit of throwing the chain off. Usually right when you're in the middle of something, the chain will pop off -- preferably jamming the blade into this guard thing that then requires a pair of pliers to extract it -- requiring about 5 minutes of tear down and rebuild. And the whole time you're kind of expecting the thing to just suddenly roar to life and cut through your hand and sink into your thigh.
The whole bush removal process was filled with a constant, running dialogue that alternated between pleading -- "Come on! Just...let...go...!" -- swearing with every word I know in combinations that probably didn't even make sense and some new words that were clearly only profanity based on context , and threatening, "Come out, or so help me, I'm gonna kill you!"
Finally, after a sweaty, angry, muddy hour where I think I might have experienced a mini rage stroke, I cut that one key root that allowed me to get the shovel under the satanic root ball and slowly pry the whole resisting mess from the earth. I felt like raising it over my head and yelling, "THIS IS SPARTA!!!"
And Dana's response? "Thanks. Now how about this one over here..."