, , , , , ,

I think I should add the blog title as a tag and see what kind of traffic comes to this blog.  Then again, that may not be a good idea.  After all, she bop.


See what a big handy Dinty Moore type of manly man I am?  The finish is finished, doors hung and operational.  If you could see my hairy chest right now, you would see it puffed out and proud.  This is what my blog is for.. bragging without being called a doof to my face.

Look what I can do.  (leg kick) stuart

My next door neighbor, Gladys Kravitz (not really, but you old Bewitched fans will appreciate that), saw my FB post where I showed off my doors and just had to come over to see them.  She was impressed.  She told Mir that she wants oak doors like that.  She wants to borrow me.

I’m not that easy.

As I write, I am receiving texts from adoring fans, requesting that I write something dirty.


Sorry, my one fan.  I’m feeling sexy in all my manliness right now, but not dirty.  Unless you want to hear me talk about how I scrubbed the bathroom last night, gave it everything I had, pushed my sponge in as hard as I could until it was sparkly and shiny.  Ooooooooh, it was.

And of course, my wife woke me up this morning to tell me I had missed a spot.  I said nary a word, cast not a scornful glance, exited the bed, scuffled sleepily to the bathroom, observed, retrieved my sponge from under the sink, shuffled back into the bedroom, handed her the sponge, and climbed back in bed.

She is overly and annoyingly obsessed right now, all because our daughter has arrived with her new beau.  As I started this blog, I could hear her scrubbing away up in our upstairs bathroom, somehow finding fault with the hour long job I had done in our bathroom last night.  You can’t make a thirty year old bathroom look better with a sponge.  A moment ago, she appeared next to me holding the shower curtain liner that I installed the week after Christmas.

“What are you doing?  I put that in a month ago!  And I spray it with the daily shower cleaner every morning.”

“It’s amazing how bad these things get in a month.”

“I’ll tell you what is amazing….”

We had an argument last night.  Our son’s first semester grade report arrived in the mail.  I knew it likely was not good even though I was assured that he had brought his grades down to passing grades, from D and F grades.  Both Mir and Nate had given me that assurance.  The report showed three C grades and four D grades.  To me, that is not passing.  I was not happy.  And I was the bad guy for being upset, told I had no business being shocked because I do not careYou are not the one who calls and emails his teachers every day.  OK.  I refused to comment on how crazy that is.  But I’m not shocked, I am upset and I should be.  You don’t care, she kept saying and saying it in front of our son, deflecting the real issue.  Finally, I had it.  I put sensitivity and productive discussion aside, called her a name I will not repeat, and walked away to finish hanging those lovely doors.

Suddenly I don’t feel so manly. The doors look great and she had to admit that since our Gladys Kravitz said so.  All it took was one word to take that manly feeling away.

My daughter is here.  She brought her boyfriend with her.  I get to spend all afternoon and evening with them both tomorrow.  I am smiling.  I wish she would stay.