Face & Butt

You are trying to fix something on the honey-do list. But it requires a special tool, like a #1 Philips or a #.5 star bit. You obviously don’t have one that small and using a #2 or larger will strip the screw. So, you head out to the local Hardware Hank and get the tool you need. You walk in the door and you get quizzed about what you bought, how much it was, and if it was really necessary. “I bought a small screwdriver. It was $1.49. And yes, if you want that lamp fixed with the specialized bulb in it you insisted on buying then yes, it’s necessary.” You try to be polite given the fact you could be watching a game or scratching something that really needs it but instead you’ve taken time out of your day off to fix something of hers she never should have purchased anyway. And now I’m getting the third degree?

But, according to the rules, that inquiry only goes one way. Guys, you know what I’m talking about.

Yesterday, my lovely wife was about two hours late getting home. I knew she was shopping. And I knew it involved something to do with color. She finally came home with a large bag containing new towels for our private bathroom. “I’m tired of our bathroom color.” I just repainted it a chocolate brown not all that long ago. “It needs something different.” Why? No one goes in there but us. I poop in there and walk around like I don’t care about what I’m not wearing. Why does it need something different? And how was that decided? What signal precipitated this change? Why didn’t I sense that a new color was needed? What special sensing gland does she have that tells her via magnetic waves enhanced by moon signals that a new accent color is needed in the private bathroom?

Our private bathroom is the place where all the crap towels end up. They are the ones we’ve had since we got married 25 years ago. They are bleached by hair coloring (not me), worn out by God-only-knows what beauty chemical, torn, threadbare and generally not pleasing. Downstairs are really nice towels I’m not allowed to touch. “They’re for company.” You know, the kind of friends that come over for dinner and a bath. All of our friends take baths in their own homes. I live in this one and I’d love to use a nice towel instead of this crap one that was last used to soak up refrigerator drippings.

I can’t buy a $1.49 screwdriver to fix her lamp but she can buy new towels because she’s tired of the colors? Now for the fun part. Can you guess what color the towels are? White. They are white towels. They are white towels with a small brown stripe at one end. And it gets better. Where are they? They are not in the private bathroom probably because they are too nice.

I’ve decided to go out and buy one of those giant towels that say FACE on one end and BUTT on the other. Thankfully, they only come in brown and white.

Christmas is for Lawyers

I spent the day with my peeps decorating five large kids’ rooms and a giant hallway for Christmas at church. In one of the rooms I set up a pre-lit nine foot tall Christmas tree. First of all, the tree smelled oddly like Pirates of the Caribbean. Really. As I was assembling the three easy parts I noticed several large white stickers on the light wires. Then I noticed more, and more. I decided to count these obnoxious warning labels and reached a total of 64. One cluster of tags numbered 20. See the photo.

This is easily the most warning labels I have ever found on any one item, ever. Apparently, pre-lit Christmas trees are some of the most dangerous manufactured items known to humankind. I’ve sat under an x-ray machine, an MRI, and a CAT scan machine. I’ve never seen a warning label and those things use radiation and giant magnets. My car only has a couple warning labels. The fan on my desk with sharp whizzing blades has only one. The farm tractors, hay balers, Kitchen Aid blender, food processor, and giant mixer I own only have one. The set of Wusthoff kitchen knives I own have none.

Obviously, the warning labels were written by the lawyers of the pre-lit Christmas tree company because of lawsuits they were trying to avoid or because of added fees they were trying to charge. So, why all the warning labels on this nine foot pre-lit Christmas tree? I decided to take a look. Here’s what some of the labels said:

“Using this nine foot pre-lit Christmas tree as toilet paper will result in a giant rash.”

“Do not place this nine foot pre-lit Christmas tree into your inner ear canal.”

“Do not put your tongue into any electrical socket on this nine foot pre-lit Christmas tree or it will cook you.”

“Using this nine foot pre-lit Christmas tree to celebrate Christmas may lead others to believe you are celebrating a religious holiday. If you receive any government money of any kind and celebrate something religious, you may lose your citizenship.”

“This nine foot pre-lit Christmas tree cannot possibly replace the nostalgic value of cutting and killing your own wild tree. Please understand that this one smells like Pirates of the Caribbean which may constitute copy write infringement if you make that inference without expressed written permission.”

“Watering this nine foot pre-lit Christmas tree may result in electric shock.”

"Using evergreen scented Glade in the vicinity of this tree will reinforce to your guests that this tree is a nine foot tall fake."

“There is the risk of someone asking you, ‘Is this nine foot pre-lit Christmas tree a fake? And why does it have 64 warning labels?’ which may lead to shame and embarrassment.”

What kind of a litigious world do we live in where the simple act of putting up a Christmas tree constitutes 64 warning labels? Are they really that dangerous? Didn’t they used to put real candles on Christmas trees? And didn’t those used to be made out of wood? We’re scared of Christmas trees but are fine with coaxing a fat man in a red suit to wander our house while we’re sleeping once a year. We’re even more fine with telling our small children that he’s real, he knows what your doing, and mommy and daddy are fine with letting a stranger into our house in the middle of the night.

You think Christmas trees are dangerous? My folks used to let me wander the woods with a .22 rifle. They let me roam the neighbor farmer’s junkyard filled with broken glass, lockjaw, and rabid skunks. I’d even come back covered in deer ticks. I used to feed beef cattle and chase after bulls. I used to climb a giant silo without safety gear after school to feed ravenously hungry cattle in the winter every day. Lighten up, Christmas tree lawyers.

This year we’ll get a real tree again. They are fun to decorate, and they obviously are not nearly as dangerous as a nine foot pre-lit Christmas tree. They look better, smell better, and no one ever asks, “Is it fake?”

You'll Shoot Your Eye Out

I cannot recall how old I was but I’m guessing somewhere between the fourth and sixth grade. I was invited to stay at my friend Keith’s home. I’d been there before and enjoyed the shooting gallery he had in his basement. He had a BB rifle of some sort and he would shoot at targets in the basement into a box of some type. I would love to say it was a Red Ryder but I don’t recall. My memory is a little hazy but I’m certain Keith will read this and fill in the details.

My folks gave me permission for the overnight but asked me what I was going to do over there. Like an idiot I told my mother the truth. “We’re going to shoot a BB gun in the basement.” Then she told me in no uncertain terms, “You will not shoot guns in his basement. You’ll shoot your eye out.”

Yes. You heard right. Years before A Christmas Story was ever released, my mother uttered those infamous words, “You’ll shoot your eye out.” I promised her I would not and went to Keith’s. It wasn’t long before we were in the basement shooting BB guns. Keith was a much better shot than I. On my first try, I overshot the box, the BB ricocheted off the cement wall and found the middle of my eye and broke every blood vessel. Everything looked pink.

So kids, if you get a Red Ryder BB Gun this Christmas, wear eye protection. And don’t lie to your mother. She knows Santa’s phone number and she’s not afraid to use it. To this day, when the 24 hour Christmas Story marathon is on and I hear those words, “You’ll shoot your eye out.” I remember my friend Keith so many years ago. But, we both turned out O.K.