The wife and I have lived at the same address for thirty-six years. We have been there so long we have been labelled a fixture, a staple in our neighborhood.
And while we have only lived there 36 years, the house has existed for 48 years.
“Honey,” the wife said, “I’ll be back in an hour. I’m going shopping for a new dress for my choir reunion. Would you like to come with me to pick out a dress?”
For me, attending this type of activity is a no-win situation. The sounds coming out of the changing room when a garment she absolutely loves doesn’t fit right, are extremely painful to hear. Any opinions offered to the “What do you think of this one?” question can be hurtful or not believed. So, to answer her question about going shopping with her I said, “I would rather have a six-hour colonoscopy”.
“Fine!” she said and left. Two minutes later she returned. “The garage door opener isn’t working.”
“That’s impossible. I just used it this morning,” I said in shock.
“Well, dear, that’s how things break. One minute they work, the next you are stuck in your garage and can’t go shopping for a new dress. How old is that garage door opener?”
“Well, I think it’s original to the house.”
“So, this thing is almost 50 years old? Time for a new one. In the meantime, how do I get my car out of the garage?”
“Well, you can’t,” I said.
“I beg to differ. Either you figure out how to open the garage door, or I can run the car in reverse through it, because I need a new dress for the reunion.”
So, I entered the garage and pulled the release cord to disengage the opener. Naturally, the cord disintegrated into a fibrous cloud of doom.
The wife got into her car and notified me that I had five minutes before she threw it into reverse and hit the gas.
I quickly found a socket wrench and unbolted the connecting bracket to disengage the opener and open the door.
Barely clearing the rubber seal on the bottom of the garage door, the wife was off, leaving me to shop online for a new garage door opener.
At first I thought, “I can do this. I did it once before in my 20s. And then I remembered, I fell over trying to put on my underwear that morning.
So, I called “The Guy” and explained that the very safety of my garage door was at risk if I didn’t get a new garage door opener, STAT. I also explained that I would do it except I fell putting on my underwear and sprained my pride.
“The Guy” came right over and in two-hours’ time I had a brand-spanking new garage door opener, just in time for the wife’s return.
“Oh honey,” we have a new garage door opener,” she tittered. “I’m so excited. Now, come into the house. I want to show you my new dress and get your opinion.”
I looked at “The Guy” who was still loading his tools in his van. I said, “She wants my opinion on a new dress. Please take me with you.”
Raul Ascunce is a freelance columnist for the Sentinel-Tribune. He may be contacted at [email protected].
