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Saturday, June 21, 2008

Betty The Butch Builder

Thank you all for the birthday wishes. It was a great day!

My sister in-law summons us to build her a deck. I've never questioned my own sexuality before this. Deb and I went to Menard's with a laundry list of wood and supplies. Picture if you will, my sister in-law and I walking through the mega hardware store, side-by-side and knowing where to find everything. It paints a picture of life partners already, doesn't it?

The style of dress we chose for the day screamed, "California here we come." I had a Miller Lite baseball cap on with my hair sticking out of the adjuster loop in the back. I had a sports bra under a firefighter wife beater that hung low on the sides, with faded old Levis shorts. I wasn't wearing makeup and my feet were sporting construction boots. I looked like a lesbian version of Olive Oyl.

She was wearing black spandex capris, with a tee-shirt, and a fancy pair of neon green Crocs. Her hair was in a ponytail and she wasn't wearing makeup either.

Best part of all? We shared a cart. Move over two girls one cup, here comes Lois and Deb, two girls, one cart! It became a parody in my head. (If you don't understand the reference, two girls one cup. I'm sorry but I'm not explaining that one. Consider yourself lucky. It is far too disgusting even for me.)

When other people looked at us, we knew what they were thinking. I played it up, swatting her on her ass and calling her babe. That's just how I roll.

After we ordered the lumber and rented a truck, we went to the yard where we saw proof that customer service is officially dead. There were plenty of blue vest wearing people out there, doing nothing, but none offered a hand. After loading the first two 14 ft. boards onto the rack at the top of the truck, I called to the closest Menard's employee.

"Hey, Cinderella," she was just standing there, staring at her fingernails, like she had nothing to do. Call me the evil step mother or an evil step sister whatever you call me, know that I am so sick of people not doing their damn job. She kept looking around us, playing off the, if I don't see them, I don't have to help, card.

My call snapped her out of her zone and she made eye contact, now she HAD to help, right? Wrong, she turned around as if I were calling the imaginary person behind her. "No, Cinderella, I'm talking to you. Don't be afraid of customer service. I promise it won't kill you."

Unhappily she slowly walked toward us, "How may I help you?" That struck me really funny because it all seemed so obvious. When I showed her the laundry list of supplies we needed, she called for backup on her walkie talkie. It took four employees and a forklift to load the truck of everything we needed.

Finally, back at the house, where we left the men. I was slightly annoyed that they hadn't finished the demo job. Mr. Lane claimed that we were "lucky, getting to shop," while they struggled with the old decking that was really hard to remove.

Lucky to shop? Was he kidding me? My only retort, "Tuck in your vag and grow a pair!"

Because I taunted him and was rushing him, like something out of a Tom and Jerry cartoon happened right before my eyes. Mr. Lane stomped his foot on a board to loosen the old rusty nails, and the board came back with a smack to his gut. (Thankfully, the nails were on the other end.) When you see the photo below, you may cringe and feel sorry for him. But trust me when I say, it was hysterical. His pain equals my gain.

Notice his hairy whiteness, which I also found a lot of humor in.

And because I don't have a snazzy photo of my sexy butch self, or a picture of the awesome deck, I'll leave you with a commercial for my new blog. Checkout my NBC blog. It's updated often and written in monologue style, and pretty freakin' funny, if I don't say so myself.