Wait, I’M NOT GOD????
I’d like to be. Not because of the all powerful thing, although, that would be cool. I’d like to be God simply because I think she should be a woman. She isn’t though. You want to know how I know this to be true? Only a man could screw things up this good. 
Okay, I’m going on a little bit of a fun rant here and who inspired this mini-tirade? Honey, of course. He prefers to think of himself as my muse. Hm. Muse versus object of a much needed smack-down?
“I’ll take smack-down for 200.00, please, Alex.”
There I was designing a centerpiece. It was going very smoothly, so once I needed to let things set and dry I moved on to a lighted iron arbor type thing. (don’t ask. I’m ambitiously creative no matter how hard the darn thing is to design and put together) There I am winding small lights through the metal using floral tape to make the wires disappear. Can you say, T. D. OUS? When Honey parks his butt on the couch and proceeds to watch me.
Here’s the visual: I’m standing on a small step ladder teetering, winding and taping…and, oh, all right, swearing because you know the project is hard to do, when he starts in.
“Gee, that looks like a lot of work. How many of those do you have to do?”
“Five.”
“Wow. Hey, I think you missed a spot. When I squint my eyes there’s a hole.”
I come out of my awkward stretch and turn to glare at him. “Really?”
“Yeah, right by your elbow. No, your other elbow. Uh, wait, I was wrong. The bulb was just turned a little.”
I close my eyes, take a deep breath and start again.
Him being annoying. “I thought you were going to do trees?”
Me, still stretching and threading, “I was, but then I found these pieces of iron and decided they’d work better.”
“I could have helped with the trees.”
Me thinking as my back is breaking. ‘You could get up off your sorry ass now and help.’ He is 6′ 3 after all, so he wouldn’t need a step ladder.
I grumble. “Yeah, I know. But seeing as how there’s no power tools involved I guess you’re not interested.”
Him laughing. “Are you mad at me for something? Careful, that bulb needs to go a little to the left.”
Me: “@#$#@! *&%$#, &^%$#@ !!! If you’re not going to help go into the family room! Don’t sit there and tell me what I’m doing wrong. I managed quite fine all day without you directing me.”
With a sigh, he stood and came over to me. It’s one of the rare times we’re actually at eye level. He reaches out and plucks a bit of fluff off my shoulder to casually inquire: “So, tell me? When my mother gets to the gates of hell are you going to let her in?”
Me: Blink. Blink.
He grins and pops his brows.
Well, suck me dry and call me dusty. According to Honey I’m not God. I am in fact, the gate keeper of hell. Which, when I thought about how this day is going? Meh, it kinda of made sense. So I shrugged and pushed through the rest of my work, happy in the knowledge that one day I will have some kind of power to wield over my mother-in-law and of course, Honey, because if I get my way he’s definitely joining us at the eternal BBQ pit of purgatory for not helping me with these damn lights!
Riley
Okay, I’m going on a little bit of a fun rant here and who inspired this mini-tirade? Honey, of course. He prefers to think of himself as my muse. Hm. Muse versus object of a much needed smack-down?
“I’ll take smack-down for 200.00, please, Alex.”
There I was designing a centerpiece. It was going very smoothly, so once I needed to let things set and dry I moved on to a lighted iron arbor type thing. (don’t ask. I’m ambitiously creative no matter how hard the darn thing is to design and put together) There I am winding small lights through the metal using floral tape to make the wires disappear. Can you say, T. D. OUS? When Honey parks his butt on the couch and proceeds to watch me.
Here’s the visual: I’m standing on a small step ladder teetering, winding and taping…and, oh, all right, swearing because you know the project is hard to do, when he starts in.
“Gee, that looks like a lot of work. How many of those do you have to do?”
“Five.”
“Wow. Hey, I think you missed a spot. When I squint my eyes there’s a hole.”
I come out of my awkward stretch and turn to glare at him. “Really?”
“Yeah, right by your elbow. No, your other elbow. Uh, wait, I was wrong. The bulb was just turned a little.”
I close my eyes, take a deep breath and start again.
Him being annoying. “I thought you were going to do trees?”
Me, still stretching and threading, “I was, but then I found these pieces of iron and decided they’d work better.”
“I could have helped with the trees.”
Me thinking as my back is breaking. ‘You could get up off your sorry ass now and help.’ He is 6′ 3 after all, so he wouldn’t need a step ladder.
I grumble. “Yeah, I know. But seeing as how there’s no power tools involved I guess you’re not interested.”
Him laughing. “Are you mad at me for something? Careful, that bulb needs to go a little to the left.”
Me: “@#$#@! *&%$#, &^%$#@ !!! If you’re not going to help go into the family room! Don’t sit there and tell me what I’m doing wrong. I managed quite fine all day without you directing me.”
With a sigh, he stood and came over to me. It’s one of the rare times we’re actually at eye level. He reaches out and plucks a bit of fluff off my shoulder to casually inquire: “So, tell me? When my mother gets to the gates of hell are you going to let her in?”
Me: Blink. Blink.
He grins and pops his brows.
Well, suck me dry and call me dusty. According to Honey I’m not God. I am in fact, the gate keeper of hell. Which, when I thought about how this day is going? Meh, it kinda of made sense. So I shrugged and pushed through the rest of my work, happy in the knowledge that one day I will have some kind of power to wield over my mother-in-law and of course, Honey, because if I get my way he’s definitely joining us at the eternal BBQ pit of purgatory for not helping me with these damn lights!
Riley
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