My Dream Guy

My plans as a young woman included marrying Adam Sandler and owning a Jeep Wrangler.  Neither of those plans has been achieved by the letter.  Josh is kind of like a more common, redneck version of Adam. 


Take our skillet, several years ago. Josh was whipping up some gourmet omelets in the kitchen of our starter home, as baby B and I were bonding in the living room.  All of a sudden, I heard some banging, cussing, and stomping.  Josh flew into the living room, threw open the French doors, and slammed the skillet into the side of the deck.  Wham, wham, wham.  "F*** you, Skillet!"  he roared, then stomped back in and slammed the door.  Just in case the skillet was confused, he reopened the door, roared out a definitive, repetitive, "F*** YOU!", then grabbed the skillet and flung it across the back yard.  It pinged off the back fence, then lay lifeless on the grass. 


Sounds a bit like Happy Gilmore, eh? 

Thankfully, like Happy, Josh has matured quite a bit.  Last night, after we'd purchased a shiny new nonstick red skillet for a bargain at Walmart, Josh calmly placed the warped, dinged, old skillet on the back deck for trash sendoff.  We put away all our groceries together then got a good night's rest before waking up to clean the house this morning. 


I was in trouble for breaking the vacuum cleaner.  I'd tried to vacuum a throw rug by myself, sucking part of it into the cleaner, and burning the belt.  My mechanical husband set about stretching a different model of belt to the vacuum, since we have not been able to find the correct belt on several Walmart runs. 


The smell of burning rubber accompanied Ol' Happy's rant.  "You know, what?  That's IT, Vacuum!  Your f***ing a** is off to the dump with that worthless Skillet!"  Poor Vacky got flung out the door and landed next to the properly "buried" skillet. 

What was worse?  The carpet was still a disaster.  I realized I was going to have to dress, run to my in-laws' house to borrow a vacuum and return it on this supposed day of rest-in-a-clean-house.  Sigh.  The slam of the back door brought me back.  It was Josh with the Shop Vac from the shed. He was attempting to attach the piece from the late vacuum to the end of the hose.  It was too small.  Together, we retrieved the former vacuum, removed its hose, and reattached it to the Shop Vac.  It took much longer to suck up the crumbs, but the carpet looks better until we get a house vacuum replacement next weekend. 


I could go back to resting.  I realized as I drifted off, that my Happy Gilmore was becoming a Grown Up.