Yesterday's Quip of the Day
Our house is a mess. This is due partially to the fact that there is always a work (or works) in progess, such as assembling furniture, painting or hanging things on the walls, electrical work, etc. We bought a Craftsman tool organizer for the garage over a year ago, because I foolishly thought that having a large, delightful organizational tool would encourage Ben to put his tools back after using them.
He does have a few tools there, but most of them are scattered around the house. I did have a few basic tools of my own before we lived together, but Ben quickly laid claim to them by hiding and losing them. It got to the point (while we were still living in a two-bedroom apartment) that I decided I had to purchase my own tools, label them with my name in indelible marker, and keep them hidden.
And so I have a nice ratchet screwdriver with all the bits I could ever need, a hammer, a small plier set, a tiny screwdriver set, a measuring tape, and a smattering of nail, screws and picture hanging hardware. Not much, but I can always find what I need... unless Ben has lost all of his 8,435 screwdrivers and begs me to use mine. I threaten his life if I don't get the tool back immediately. Yet, somehow, my measuring tape has disappeared and yesterday my multi-bit ratchet screwdriver was also missing.
I think we were assembling my sheves and I refused to continue until he brought back my screwdriver. He grumbled but went to look for it and, miraculously, found it. This brings me to yesterday's Quip of the Day.
"Ben, can I ask you an honest question?"
"No."
"Do you think someday you'll ever be more organized?"
"Do you think someday you'll stop bleeding when I stab you in the eye with this screwdriver?"
And we busted up laughing. Sometimes his answers to my questions allow his should've-been-an-improv-player personality to shine through. He was worried when I said I was going to blog that comment that it might be interpreted as domestic abuse. I would like to assure the world that there was no stabbing involved, in my eye or elsewhere. It was only a stab at humor (yuk yuk).
