Friday, October 24, 2014

Mr. Man is Away and Q is in the Hedges.

I am buried deep in the hedges today, trimming branches that have been ignored for years.  The hedge is well over ten feet tall (almost twice as high as I am) and despite the tools I have acquired I am reluctantly going to have ask for Mr. Man's help.

I don't like asking for his help.

This is indeed ironic as he is Mr. Man, the epitome of a rescuer, helper, superhero; assisting everyone who is in need at any moment.  I sometimes want to hide his phone so others cannot find him.  In fact, just the other day I received a random text stating, "You husband is the bestest!"  I figured he'd helped another person crossing his path.

Needless to say, I don't want his help.  He is the superhero and I am Q, holding the fort, arranging his schedule, and playing with the cool gadgets.  Today's high efficiency spyware include extendable hedge clippers and a 6' tree trimmer.  Oh, and a rickety, aluminum ladder.  The only spying I get to do is looking at my neighbours as the hedge branches come down.

I have been in this position before.  Two years ago I wanted to redo the upstairs bathroom all on my own.  And I would've done it easily had I not had to trim the ends of the quarter-round.  I may be good with a saw (cue the dresser story) but this would take a saws-all or some other power tool unfamiliar to me.  Would I wait for his help? Of course not.  My son (a bystander during many of my schemes) and I found the proper tool in the basement, attempted to put the blade on and "go to it."  Unfortunately, I could not get it to work.  I would have to give up and ask for help.  It was the sensible thing to do.  But I was determined.

My memory is lacking in how I managed to figure out how to work the saw, whether I watched youtube, or asked Mr. a hypothetical question, "Say, for instance, someone wanted to know...?" But I found myself running the saw fairly perfectly.  No sweat.

It was the next morning as I was on my hands and knees sawing bits of wood out of the wall,  I heard the words, "What the hell is that sound?" and the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Mr. came to the bathroom door and found me in my favourite nightie, barefoot, with no headgear, furiously holding on to this whirring, beast of a tool.

He told me to stop and tried to offer his help, but I had a saw in my hands. Q, determined not to need a hero, had lost her mind.

Instead Mr. Man stood nearby, watching over me, ready to call 911 should I injure myself.  There's my hero.  Looking back, I should've let him help.  Determination does not mean smarts.

So, although he won't let me learn to use the mitre saw, I have paved my way into other cool gadgets.  And today as I am in the hedges, I am fully dressed, with work gloves.

I just close my eyes, though, when the branches fall on my head, and wait for him to come and do the tall stuff.

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