Monday, April 09, 2007

Nyuk nyuk nyuk

I was washing up after Easter Dinner when it occurred to me to ask Moe when Shemp would come around with her truck. Of course, I had to interrump a critical point in the Masters to ask. I didn't really care.

"Oh," he says. "She's not bringing it. I have to go over to get it as soon as the match is over."

Isn't it just lovely the way people who put you out so frequently will lend you their truck and their hand-truck and call it even for another six month's of answering to their needs? Oh, yes. I think so, too.

After I've washed up I decide the rest of the day is for me to get some of what everyone else has been getting: rest and amusement. I plopped onto the sofa, snuggled under the throw, and started to get over another day of servitude. Eventually, Moe and Larry left to get Shemp's truck.

Having been the one to move the old refrigerator across the kitchen and into the dining room, I remembered how heavy and unwieldy the thing is, and I thought of the stairs -- the stairs out of the house and the stairs up to the office. Larry and Moe were going to need Curly. I got up to tap son's shoulder. He owed me thirty-five bucks and this would be a fine pay-back.

In come Moe and Larry with the hand truck. They can barely slide it under the fridge. I've set the fridge on the dining room floor, mind you, which, although oak, is not immune to scratches. I'm cringing, just a little. Finally they get the fridge mounted and tilted back and begin guiding it through the threshold into the kitchen. As he nears the back door, Moe says, "Shit. It's not going to fit."

Nyuk nyuk nyuk.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you; you'll probably have to remove the doors from the fridge and remove the hardware from the screen door. Did you measure?" Moe does that thing where you measure with both hands but your arms don't stay in the same place as you walk from the object to the opening. Worth a chuckle after a long day in the kitchen. He decides that I'm right and he goes into the garage to search through his disorganized, mismatched assortment of rusting tools.

I call after him, "You'll need a Phillips and a socket wrench and six-point sockets." Then I retrieve my handy, all-inclusive case of shiny, clean tools from the kitchen cupboard, grab my socket wrench and start removing the hinges from the fridge. He walks in as I'm lifting the first door off the hinges. He is holding a #14 crescent wrench and a box of twelve-point sockets, but no socket wrench.

Nyuk nyuk nyuk.

He's annoyed that I'm getting the job done, so he grabs my wrench. I get my Phillips and start to work on the screen door hardware and finish that in short order. I play a round of solitaire on the computer. Larry has gone into hiding.

Finally, Moe's ready to slide the fridge back onto the hand truck. I'm thinking, "heavy: hernia; stairs, wheels, snow: squashed Moe, oh no..." I tell Husband he's got the wrong man on the heavy side of the operation.

Not that I want Curly squashed. It's just nice to see him do something useful with 200 pounds of muscle on occasion.

So they get the fridge down the steps with a minimum of thumping and crashing, and wheel it out to the driveway. I have no reason to follow them, but I'm actually smiling at this point, so I do.

The bed of the truck is full of snow. By full, I mean there is a four inch dip along the right side of the bed, and a six inch drift on the left, and the warmer temperature has caused what was once fluffy and light snow to become compact and heavy snow. Moe's first scoop with the snow shovel reveals that the bed of the truck is also full of tools and extension cords and scrap lumber.

Nyuk nyuk nyuk.

It occurs to me that in spite of Shemp being a lesbian, she and Moe were fairly well suited to each other.

After Moe shovels out the bed of the truck and shoves the melange of tools and cords and scraps to one side, he and Curly manage to load the fridge and the doors. Curly then gives me the "I've got a date; do I really have to go all the way across town right now?" look. I nod. There is no way in hell Moe and Larry are going to get the fridge up the office stairs without help, and it's only going to take an hour or so, and Curly owes me thirty-five bucks until I say he doesn't. For some reason Moe starts calling for Larry. I guess it's just not a project without three bodies present, even if one body is quite surly and, accustomed to doing nothing more than gaming in front of the computer or lounging in front of the tube or polishing off nine of twelve servings of Easter dessert intended for the entire family, relatively useless.

Off they go.

On my way back to the couch I see that Moe's managed to leave every tool and every piece of refrigerator hardware on the kitchen floor. I take the Phillips and the screen door hinge from the counter, reinstall the hinge, put away all of my tools, and leave everything else the way it was left.

With any luck Moe will trip over the hardware on his way out the door this morning and remember to take it with him.

Nyuk nyuk nyuk.

My tools are safely, neatly hidden.


Blogger Mrs. G said...

Hilarious! (a girl's GOTTA keep her OWN tools, that's for sure)

while I'm here: earlier, I got jettisoned off the internet before completing a praiseful comment, but I really love the poem you posted (and wrote?)

5:35 AM  
Blogger Cheryl said...


8:33 PM  
Blogger fineartist said...

The measuring thing slayed me, as did the, "he owes me thirty-five bucks until I say he doesn't." Heeeeeeeeee!

7:18 AM  

Post a Comment

<< Home