Guess What Honey’s Foot And Half Swear Jar Equals?

I had to take a picture of this so you’d have some scale. This antique bottle used to sit in my office. Honey and I threw loose change in it and every once in a while we’d cash it and do something great with the kids. But now that the kids are older we seem to have more bills in our pockets/wallets than coins. Go figure. The bottle has been kind of neglected. Until now. I have reinvented our savings jar. Check this out. I do have to say I was going to share this on Facebook last night, but then I decided to blog about it instead. Are any of you guys on Facebook? This is where I hang out some nights feel free to find me.

So, yesterday was interesting. Actually it was more like late afternoon and evening. Here’s the deal. After Honey’s been working on our house during the remodel I realized that he’s…well, how can I put this? Less refined when it comes to being disappointed over the outcome of certain things. Example? (Feel free to fill in the disruptive stars with the appropriate letters)

A nail doesn’t go in straight and he finds the need to growl. “You skinny bast*rd!”

Drywall patch doesn’t disappear enough for him after he sands it? “You piece of non-disappearing s*it.”

Ceiling fan doesn’t go back up perfectly the first time? (Cover your eyes if you don’t want fit the appropriate letters in here because this is a bad one) “You rotten mo*her *ucker! *uck off.”

Seriously, I’ve been living in audible shock for two weeks with his “contractor speak”. So this is when I decided he was gonna have to pay the piper. And by the piper, I really mean me, because *Looks right at you* I deserve the dough as compensation for my delicate hearing being abused. *Sheepishly looks away and kicks the dirt a couple of times. Then spying my pretty shoes I’m compelled to face you and admit the truth* Oh, all right. I want the cash for a new pair of shoes, but that’s besides the point. Honey needs to tone down the language when he’s working so he agreed to the cuss jar idea I proposed. I had to take a picture of it for you guys – because trying to explain it wouldn’t work. See? It’s actually an antique Jim Beam bottle that’s like a foot and half tall. You should have seen the look on his face when I rolled that sucker out. Heheheh. Anyway, we’ve been at this for four days and it’s not going well for him. *Leans in to whisper* The man doesn’t like to see his shortcomings I can tell you that. So there we are standing by the stupid fan he put back up, only now it’s humming and you know that’s not going to fly with me. Here’s the conversation:

Me scrunching my nose up. “It’s too noisy.”

“I know. I’ve taken out the solenoid and wrapped it. Leave it with me. I’ll get it fixed.”

Did I mention I’m not so good at leaving things alone in my own house? When workers are present I usually leave so I don’t mess with things they’re doing, but today I was staying ‘cause it was Honey. Much to his chagrin. I’d just done a workout so I said, “I don’t know. I was going to have a shower.”

He wasn’t even looking at me. He was too transfixed with the solenoid. “Go ahead. I’ll have this fixed by the time you get out.”

Did I mention that I worry about Honey when he works at home? I have no idea why. He works all over the county without me every day, but yeah. That’s how it is. I say, “You’re not going to electrocute yourself of something when I’m in the shower, are you?”

You have to picture him turning to me really slow-like. His chin drops toward his chest and he pulls his readers down to look at me. Not going to lie. I love when he does this. Probably why it took me a few seconds to hear what he said. It was bad people. Very, very, bad. All I did was point to the JB jar and say, “That sentence will cost you five bucks.” And as I flicked my hair behind my back and sauntered off to have my shower, I heard him yell. “That’s entrapment. You’re trying to drive me crazy just so I’ll keep swearing. I’ll be broke putting all my money in that damn bottle.”

And I yelled right back. “You said the ‘D’ word. That’s another dollar!”

I nearly fell over laughing when I heard him list off every swear word I knew and a few that I didn’t. After which he said, “I’m starting a tab. Next Friday I’ll write you a check.”

Did I care? Nope. A check was more convenient because I still haven’t figured out how I’m going to get the bills out of the bottle without breaking it. I can’t smash it open. I love that bottle. But best of all? Guess who’s going shoe shopping next weekend on someone else’s dime. Quarters, actually, by why split hairs. Yay!

Thanks for stopping by!

 

Riley