A jackhammer is the only tool my wife specifically forbids me to use. I don't know exactly how that rule would be enforced were she to catch me jackhammering, but I do know that I don't want to know. At the very least, the punishment would be swift, mean, and public. It would not surprise me if, at a company party, The Mom were to affect a convincing drunk and loudly announce my need to be called "Cocky McPenis" during sex. Or, of course, she could remain completely sober and simply tell everyone why the jackhammer ban was enacted in the first place. I won't steal her thunder here, but I will say that, if you've ever looked out in your backyard and wondered where, exactly, your main waterline was, I bet me and a jackhammer could find it in just two tries. We'd find your phone line in one.
And let me just pause a moment to tell you that, of all the lines going to your house, the one you are most going to need when a five-foot geyser of water suddenly engulfs both your husband and his rented jackhammer is your phone line.
So for about five years now I've been living under a jackhammer ban, which, it must be said, has not exactly cramped my style. Still, the ban has been taunting me of late because as I write this, I'm paying a guy an extraordinary amount of money to jackhammer the floor of my basement to rubble. And I'm up here, hearing him do it, thinking that it should be me. It should be me down there, taking out the floor, hammering everything I find back into its elemental particles. But no, one little mistake--alright two little mistakes--and all the sudden, I have to hire a contractor.
It's not a money thing, although that is part of it. Mostly it's a pride thing. It gets me right here (and you might not be able to see through the cloud of basement dust that I'm pointing to my chest) when I have to shake the hand of a person who has come to my house to do a job that I could do myself. I shake his hand and then take him around, show him what needs to be done, and halfway through I expect the man to turn me around, pat me on the head and say, "Go back upstairs, little writer-man. Go back upstairs to your baby girls and your laptop. I'm here now and I'll take care of this. No need to wring your little pasty writer hands over this big bad basement floor anymore." And it probably doesn't help that I meet him at the door wearing my wife's baby-blue flowered crocs.
But holy crap are they comfortable.
Wow, those shoes have left me speechless. Yikes!
Posted by: Jeni | January 25, 2008 at 10:32 AM
Those are amazing shoes. A gift from your mom, I presume?
Posted by: Loretta | January 25, 2008 at 11:23 AM
LOLOL!
We had someone jackhammer our kitchen floor once. I swear the kid was about 17, and he didn't cover anything with plastic nor tape up any to keep the dust from infiltrating the house.
It looked like someone dropped a giant bag of flour through the ENTIRE house.
But at least the phone worked so I could scream at the company........
(those crocs look fah-bulous!)
Posted by: scatteredmom | January 25, 2008 at 12:13 PM
It should be shared that Kathryn now wants a pair of house crocs as well.
Posted by: The Mom | January 25, 2008 at 12:19 PM
Well, she can't have mine! Um, I mean yours.
Posted by: The Dad | January 25, 2008 at 12:23 PM
I was going to tell you about the time my husband rented a jackhammer. But then I saw the shoes...frankly, I've lost my train of thought...
Posted by: JC | January 25, 2008 at 01:01 PM
Heehee. Admittedly, I am kind of jealous of the crocks. Also, of the man in the basement. Also, I tagged you for a meme. Go to my blog for details.
Posted by: Clare | January 25, 2008 at 01:02 PM
You're scaring my eyes.
Posted by: Amy the Mom | January 25, 2008 at 01:07 PM
Hilarious. Crock on dude!
Posted by: Heidi | January 25, 2008 at 01:27 PM
I'm all for doing things yourself but if phone lines are cut and there are geysers, well, I say that you had your chance.
Of course, I once watched as my stepfather fell out of a very tall tree holding a running chain saw so I am conservative in these matters.
Posted by: Vikki | January 25, 2008 at 02:15 PM
sweet kicks. My wife doesn't own any crocs and even if she did I wouldn't fit into them. Oh well, I will just have to stick to prancing around in her intimate apparel!
Posted by: PG | January 25, 2008 at 02:16 PM
As we too just lived through a basement floor being jackhammered & then "repoured" it must finally be time for my first post. Parting w/ pride & $$ = holding onto sanity & wife. You chose wisely, as did my hubby. Good job!
Posted by: CATE | January 25, 2008 at 04:05 PM
They now have fleece lined, no-holes crocs. Just in case anyone wanted to know. I love my bright orange original style ones. Even though they give me duck feet.
Bright blue crocs...... $30
Basement contractor.......$300 (I know, way more)
Keeping your sanity (and dignity) .. priceless
Posted by: Litte Bird | January 25, 2008 at 04:29 PM
The Dad you totally rock those Crocs!
The Mom, I knew you were a very smart woman, the jackhammer ban does that include all electric tools ie. drills and power saws, if not perhaps you should think about expanding the items on the list...The Dad may start having to show his he-man handyman skills soon, be afraid, be very afraid.
Posted by: Angela | January 25, 2008 at 04:45 PM
I once signed up for membership in a group called:
"I don't care how comfortable those crocs are, you look like an idiot."
So now you know. Love the flowery, feminine touches, BTW! Very nice.
At first, I thought it was the jackhammer-er wearing the offending shoes. And I was gonna say, Don't drop the soap, Cocky McPenis.
Posted by: loren | January 26, 2008 at 04:04 AM
With that pic, "Cocky McPenis" should be changed to "Cloggy Vajayjay" :-)
Posted by: | January 26, 2008 at 09:11 AM
Thanks The Dad - I laughed out loud for 5 minutes. You're the only guy I know that would have the courage to post such a thing.
Posted by: keribea | January 26, 2008 at 09:33 AM
Man, you are gonna get some interesting hits on your site now that you've posted "Cocky McPenis." I feel for your poor mother when she reads that.
Posted by: 3-Martini Jennifer | January 26, 2008 at 02:14 PM
Hehhehheh
Posted by: Victoria | January 26, 2008 at 02:14 PM
Sweet meciful Jesus, you're wearing crocs. Cocky McPenis, indeed. As if.
Posted by: You can call me, 'Sir' | January 26, 2008 at 04:01 PM
"The shoes, right? The shoes are tragic!"
--My Blue Heaven
You poor thing. No offense, The Mom!
Posted by: Hatchet | January 26, 2008 at 05:55 PM
Ok, maybe not so much in the dignity dept.
I have mentioned that I cannot spell right?
Posted by: Litte Bird | January 27, 2008 at 04:18 AM
Cloggy Vajayjay...OMG!! I am spewing out my drink!!! Those aren't even real Crocs are they? They don't have the strap? Or are they around your heel like a TOTAL Vajayjay?
You make me laugh out loud....
Posted by: lurker mclurkeson | January 27, 2008 at 07:07 PM
Snort! Personally I am always very happy when The Man comes to do a job that we could have done ourselves...but who wants to?
Posted by: Mauigirl52 | January 28, 2008 at 06:08 PM
Laughing hysterically. The ban on the jackhammer sounds like a good idea. And love the shoes. You're right they are incredibly comfortable (I have about 10 pair)but you could get them in more manly colors.
Posted by: Michell | January 28, 2008 at 10:38 PM