Hoist The Flag Corporal, It’s Time to Surrender.

Image source: http://www.aagrapevine.org via google images.

In spite of a mildly productive day that can’t have been described as all that bad….things spiraled out of control as soon as I came home.

First, as I pulled into the driveway, I notice a sizable pile of old baby accoutrements piled in the front lawn. My spidey sense started to tingle immediately. My wife had slipped into a “I’ve had it up to here with all this crap” mode. As a result:

sources: southerngirlramblings.com via google images.

She had gone into The Narrator’s closet and hauled everything out. Things were being separated into piles.
“Throw away” “Give away” and a smaller, third one that was “Keep.”

Usually when she gets going like this, it is best to stay right out of her way. If you stand still, you risk being clubbed and dumped in the “Throw away” pile. I went inside and inquired about the baby things on the lawn.

“They need to go down into the garage.”

“There’s no room in the garage” says I. – (The main part of the garage has things that belong to our landlord, and we have a small corner room where I have all kinds of crap wadded in there.)

“Well, there’s no room for it up here anymore either.”

(Here is where I make a mistake)

“Well”, says I….”It all came OUT of somewhere didn’t it?”

….And that is how spring cleaning can be responsible for drastically lowering the temperature around here. Needless to say, I moved it all to the garage. STAT.


Then, she needs to run into town for a quick errand. She takes The Narrator with her.
Upon her return, this happens.

“Um, is the car a bit more growly than usual?”

“No, I didn’t notice anything all day today, and I took it damn near 200 miles.”

“The brakes are weird too.”

“No they aren’t, they’re fine. Again. All day. No problem. PLUS the guy took it to inspect it today, and he didn’t notice any problems either.”

“I’m telling you, somethings off.”

“Humph.” – (This is my “you have no idea what you’re talking about” sound.)

Twenty minutes later, I go move the car out of the driveway so our landlord can bring his truck in to move some things out of the garage. I put it in reverse and hit the accelerator.


….and the brake pedal sinks low to the floor.

…..just like she said it did.

Somewhere between my getting home at 4:30 and her taking the car back out at 5:00, the brake pads on one of the wheels said “Take this job and shove it.” Don’t ask me how that happens, but I swear it made no noise at all when I came home. Or all day. But it conspired with my wife somewhere along the lines to make me look like a jerk and help the day end on a note of flatulence rather than peace.

Couple all of this with my exhaustion from the last few days, and The Narrator’s fun little game of pretending he’s afraid of his dinner, and crying about having to eat in much the same manner as a condemned man might beg for clemency in an old west movie as he’s being dragged to the gallows by a man in a black hood. Now you have an accurate picture of the headache that is my evening.

It certainly could be worse. No doubt about it. But today just turned into one of those days where several little things go wrong all at once.
As I write this, a smell invades my nostrils. A bad smell. An unmistakable smell. Across the room stands 19 month old Mini-Me with a grin on his face that says:

“Daddy…on the awful cake that is your evening, I have supplied the icing.”



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