One thing I learned with goggles on, the eyes need fresh air. I know they are not lungs, but it felt like my eyes were sufficating. Besides those goggles keep a continual fog. So when I walk thru the living room for the back deck holding my trusty chain saw, I did not notice what must have been my wife’s urgent look. There is plaque I know by heart next to the patio door. It reads, “Love is something you do, not just something you say.” I ran in to it, and almost nocked it off the wall. I often wonder if it has something to do with my yard responsibilities. Now that I think about this, It would have been better to go thru the fence gate outside. Its not everyday you walk through the house with a chainsaw.
She comes at me like one of those wet hornets in a straight line. Her fingers are stingers.I have to admit she looks sexy when she is angry for my safety, never mind the fog my eyes are in. “What do you think you are doing?” She says
“What the heck to do you mean?” Acting stupid at home is good when you don’t want to let her know you can load dishes, or even cook, but in this case it was a bad idea.
“You almost killed yourself the last time on a tree out their, and you took half the deck with you. Grow up and stop scaring me!” Give me that chainsaw.”
“You don’t understand. It’s who I am. It’s what I do.”
“Give me that!” She tugs on it until I fall to my knees, and we roll over together. Right away I know this doesn’t look good, but that’s not all. It is a nice day, and the windows are wide open. You see, my wife can call a child home from two miles away, even if they are in someone’s house.
“Give me that! Get off me! Ow! That hurts!”
“Please don’t yell honey, what will the neighbors….”
“Im not yelling! You want yelling. I will give you yell!”
We are both rolling on the carpet with fingers vying for the best grip on the chainsaw.
Finally I get on top of her determined to finish my job, when she makes the wrestling unfair. “Zach, wake up!” She yells to our youngest teen son still living with us is in an upstairs bedroom directly above us. Proof at last she can wake the dead.
I hear him rushing down the stairs, and soon feel whats left of my thin strands of hair getting put in a painful ponytail. “Get off her!” .
I lay on my back. I let go of the chainsaw which is nestled on my wife. My goggles have slid down my face and I can see my son proudly holding pieces of my mousy silver hair in his clenched fist. Ouch! Exhausted, I give up the fight. Besides; I know I can take the overgrown toehead on a given day.
My son relaxes his fist. “Mom you okay?”
“I’m okay, I just wish your dad would act his age.”
It is quiete for a moment. I close my eyes and pray we don’t have the police at our door. Silence is golden.
My son looks over at me. “Grow up dad.”
We all sigh together. Man, this kind of love you don’t just find anywhere in the neighborhood.
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