So, there's me. I am wheeling a lumber cart through the aisles of Home Depot, feeling thoroughly self-satisfied and chock-a-block with impunity. After logging maybe a dozen trips there, I have finally learned the lay of the land. I can stride purposefully past the pencil-eared, carpenter-aproned Handy Guys, locate the exact hardware I need, and stride purposefully out. As I wheel my cart, I think, smugly, of how far I've come, and how nobly I've earned my home improvement stripes.
Arriving at my car, I ably pop the trunk and turn down the rear seats, and with some maneuvering, begin to slide the 31 x 82 piece of plywood into my trusty little Nissan Altima.
Nissan Altima. 31 x 82 piece of wood.
I snag on the window frame, and then on the lower lip of the rear seat. I apply pressure, hoping to somehow shrink my piece of wood the necessary two inches that would allow it to fit in my car. I begin to mutter.
I open all remaining doors to my car, and try my front seats at various angles of reclinement and declinement. At this point, however, it's become apparent that the wood is simply too big. %&*$!
At length, someone my Dad's age pulls up in a minivan. "Need some help?" he asks.
Oh, bless your sweet little old heart.
He follows me back to my home, toting my plywood, which slid easily into his Dodge Caravan. Fortunately, I was prescient enough to get his mailing address before he departed. Tomorrow I will deliver two loaves of date-nut bread onto his doorstep, and a card. Thank goodness people like him exist in the world, to bail out over-confident people like me, who have small cars.
Arriving at my car, I ably pop the trunk and turn down the rear seats, and with some maneuvering, begin to slide the 31 x 82 piece of plywood into my trusty little Nissan Altima.
Nissan Altima. 31 x 82 piece of wood.
I snag on the window frame, and then on the lower lip of the rear seat. I apply pressure, hoping to somehow shrink my piece of wood the necessary two inches that would allow it to fit in my car. I begin to mutter.
I open all remaining doors to my car, and try my front seats at various angles of reclinement and declinement. At this point, however, it's become apparent that the wood is simply too big. %&*$!
At length, someone my Dad's age pulls up in a minivan. "Need some help?" he asks.
Oh, bless your sweet little old heart.
He follows me back to my home, toting my plywood, which slid easily into his Dodge Caravan. Fortunately, I was prescient enough to get his mailing address before he departed. Tomorrow I will deliver two loaves of date-nut bread onto his doorstep, and a card. Thank goodness people like him exist in the world, to bail out over-confident people like me, who have small cars.
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1 comments:
damnit! i was hoping you actually burned some bread or something but alas, supercraftywoman has no cryptonite... ;)
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