Blog fodder: the husband

Carl cracked me up the other day. It's okay. He knows he's blog fodder. In fact, we've been laughing at with one another for a very long time.
First, on the way home from work he called me from the gas station with the following news;
"Honey, hold off on making dinner tomorrow. I may be taking us out. Corndogs are on sale 2 for a dollar here! You need time to think about it, sure. No need to commit right now. Just mull it over."

Well! I may not be a princess, but I do have my standards. And corndogs at a local gas station don't cut it. No, I prefer the shay chicken salad served in triangle shaped containers with the plastic wrap on them. Because I'm classy like that.


And he cracked me up some more too.
That night we took down the tree (or more accurately, *I* took down the tree while he grocery shopped, what with that pine sap allergy and all.) Have you ever tried to bag a live pine? It aint pretty, folks. It's kind of like trying to diaper an elephant (if you've ever given that a shot).

Okay, so. Tree bagged and curbed. On to the needle cleanup (and if you're one of the three hundreds of people who regularly read my blog, then you know I wasn't up for another cleanup, a la my previous blog entry.) I grabbed the hand vac because if you know anything about live needle cleanups, they'll put a kill on your upright vacuum cleaner (it only took us three rounds of "take this beast apart and clean out the needle jams with a wire coat hanger" to learn that lesson). So, I was hand vaccing my little heart out when what to my wondering eyes should appear? But a kind hearted hubs and his "vacuum" quite queer.
I crawled along using my trusty handvac with the limp handle (Carl didn't tuck it far enough back on the shelf last week and it came crashing to the floor, the handle splitting on impact.) And as I did so, Carl joined me in my efforts, bringing his own vac of sorts.
Let us pause to allow the photo speak for itself, shall we?

Isn't she a beaut? No. NoooOo! Not the silver hand vac. Look closer.
The trusty Hilljack Handvac XLR.
Packing tape, if you will.
In all seriousness, he crawled beside me, Hilljack in hand, trying to assist with the needle cleanup. As if that weren't enough, he then went the extra mile. As I attempted to vacuum needles from along the baseboards he insisted, "Don't worry about that. I'll get it for you." Nothing says I love you like a doting hubby and his trusty Hilljack.
I love you right back, Babes. Kiss. Hug.

And now, as we begin the new year, do me (and you) a favor. Head on over to Mixed Bouquet and say hello to my friend Marilyn. Her New Year post will truly bless and inspire you.

Toni