Sometimes when I leave the house in the morning, I wonder what husband will be doing during the day.....washing clothes, ironing, cutting the grass, grocery shopping, making lunch and supper, building a moose hanger........all worthy and necessary tasks.
Today was no exception.
"So, what did you do this afternoon dear?" I inquire at the end of the day when he comes to pick me up.
"It was a good time!", says he. "I had some metal cutting to get done for that moose hanger we're building."
"Sounds like fun!", says I....remembering his upcoming hunt for moose down on the southern prairies....ya, I thought that was funny too!!
"I was cutting steel like mad, going through more blades than a man who hadn't shaved in 20 years! All was going well. Sparks were flying all over the garage. Looked like the 4
th of July in there!", says he.
"Sparks?", I exclaimed.
"Well, it started off as sparks", he began.
"
Started as sparks?", I asked, my curiosity being tweaked now.
"Ya. The more I cut and sawed, the more I could faintly smell what I figured was smoke somewhere. But I was thinking of the B.C. forest fire smoke wending its way to Saskatchewan on the jet stream!", he replied.
"Smoke?!!", I said, my imagination now beginning to run somewhat ahead of me now. I could imagine smoke, but I wasn't thinking forest fires.
"Well, I just kept sawing and cutting, thinking that perhaps I should just close the garage door. That would cut back on the smell of smoke!" he explained.
"
Hmmmm....good thinking," says I.
"The fact was though, I not only smelled smoke, now it was visible a bit in front of me!", he went on.
My initial thought was that the garage now lay in a clump of ashes.
"I stopped sawing the metal altogether then and took stock of my surroundings. Yep. Sure enough. Smoke was billowing up from the nether regions of my 'work' coveralls....as in below the belt area."
Now my mind began going in a totally different direction....one that involved words like
circumcision, noodle and sterility.....to name a few.....
"I peered down at those old coveralls which covered the south half of my body and I could see that the sparks had burned a big enough hole that you could shove a large cat in there.....not that I would......but my poor old coveralls. I was sure hoping they'd last another year or two. Dang!", says he, in memory of his recently deceased 15 year old dirty, greasy, holey, grey, pinned-up-with-safety-pins....coveralls.
Silently, I was offering up prayers of thanksgiving for the recent loss....(he actually wore them up to the Co-op garden centre only hours before, to my disgust!!).
They now sit in a grey heap on the basement landing............ crispy, burned hole prominently displayed on top, a reminder to us of the catastrophe that nearly was.
Ya, it sure wasn't the garage I was worried about!!!
heh heh heh
