Home Depot

My husband emerges from the shower, frustrated because the shower faucet handle has finally broken off and now we are forced to use a pair of pliers to turn it on and off, and states, “Looks like I’m going to Home Depot this weekend.”

This kind of statement coming from my husband puts me into an itty bitty PANIC because for my husband -

numbers and finances – absolutely.

tools and repair – absolutely not.

The nice thing about the two above notations is that usually and more often than not, and I really mean more often, he admits this. However, it seems a few times out of the year some sort of alien-hallucinogenic force takes over and he is convinced that he has it covered. I, on the other hand beg to differ… let’s take last night for example –

On the front porch there was what appeared to be the making of a bee hive. There was one worker-bee fervently working on the honeycomb so that his entire family could move in. Of course, there was no way I would be disposing of this contraption because I am a freak about things that sting me – call me crazy. So…I reluctantly send my Handy Manny husband out there and this is what he proceeded to kill the worker-bee with –

Gardening shears! Not a hose or possibly fly swatter or something that will instantly smash the bee. Noooo…but gardening shears!

Needless to say when I hear the words “Home Depot” escape, and I do mean escape, my husband lips it makes me a bit nervous.