Out Riding Fences
I’m a big believer in humiliating oneself before anyone else beats you to it. And, shocking as this may seem, I provide no shortage of that favored past time.
That image up top is, to the untrained eye of the layman, a fence post. A cedar fence post which, you’ll be happy to know, is “environmentally prohibited” in certain parts. More on that later.
I’ve been wanting to replace our makeshift and very rigged wire fence along one side of the yard to keep in the big, fat, Golden You-Know-Who. And make it so I didn’t have to constantly turn the camera away from such an ugly thing in an otherwise very nice backyard. So, weekend before last, Cute Redhead (who now openly denies all culpability in any of this) decided It Needed To Be Done Now. Which went off like this:
“I hate that fence.”
She said that. She actually, honest-to-God said that. She actually, honest-to-God said, “Honey…I need you turn the next three days of your life in to making mine a living inferno straight from the Devil’s Pantry.”
And so I did. I dropped everything I was doing and transmogrified (that’s for Holly, in Texas) into Cowboy Todd. Who is a desperado. Who is out riding fences.
Fences like that one. Which is bent all out of shape, knocked over, run over, walked over, impossible to mow around…and has all the structural integrity of wet Kleenex. Which got me all bent out of shape and wrapped around the axle.
Speaking of axles, this is the sort of photo one takes while steering with one’s knee (not recommended) on the way back from Stupid Home Improvement Store (for the fourth time).
The Humiliation I mentioned:
Cute Redhead CLAIMS she suggested I “really be sure about accurately measuring the 8′ between each post before you dig.” She is lying in front of God and everybody. She did not say this. At all. What she said was something like, “I think you’re a girl.”
Which is sort of how I heard every suggestion she made over the next several days after I royally screwed up the accurately measuring the 8′ between each post before I dug.
On Digging:
If you’re going to dig holes for fence posts, I’d like to suggest renting an auger.
That way you can one day sit with your grandchildren and share nice stories from Way Back When. Stories like, “Did grandaddy ever tell you about the time he was raped by a crocodile?” Because that’s all a one-man auger is designed to do as far as I’m concerned, and that’s all I want to say about that.
Those two posts right there happen to be the only ones properly spaced such that the pre-cut and notched 8′ cedar planks tucked themselves in just right, right?
Right.
And then everything went to Hell. There are so many things that went wrong on this that the only thing that kept me from losing my mind outright was the laughter. At myself. Because the only thing missing from my work was keystone cop music.
A few highlights, however:
1) When I stood up on the lawn chair with one foot on the saw horse with a chainsaw tearing a gash into the space-time continuum, I was doing so because I couldn’t reach the [not important and you wouldn't believe what I was trying to do anyway] and was wanting to do it before Cute Redhead got home at 3:30 and saw me doing something Not Wise.
2) Cute Redhead got home at 3:25 that day and saw the whole thing.
3) When I work around the house I am Marty Stewart.
4) When I tend to the children all by myself I am Marty Poppins.
5) But when I work in the yard, I put on my old Levis, my ropers, and my cowboy hat. And I am Cowboy Todd. Cowboy Todd cusses. A lot. He also scowls. A lot. And he never applies sunscreen. Ever. John Wayne didn’t do it so Cowboy Todd doesn’t.
The only reason I’m putting in this photo is to show you that it really was me screwing this all into Kingdom Come.
With a chainsaw.
And geek glasses. While cussing. In six different languages (our Cowboy Todd, while a stud, is very cultured).
6) If you walk into a Certain Stupid Home Improvement Store and answer Lumber Section Dude’s “…so, whadaya need?” with, “…a gin and tonic,” you will see Lumber Section Dude flutter his little eyes like he’d just suffered an aneurysm and hear him respond “Eeewwwkaaay,” as if the idea of men in lumber sections being pissed off enough to want hard liquor was beneath the little wuss. Who would be better placed working as a maître d’ in some snooty restaurant.
7) When you walk away from Not A Real Man and set off to find Other Lumber Section Dude who clearly knows what he’s doing and lead off with, “I need 9′ uncut cedar planks to notch in myself on a fen—” you will be cut off with: “Sorry. We’re environmentally prohibited from selling that.”
At which point your brain will explode inside your head, start oozing out your ears and accompany the fluttering of your eyes brought on by the aneurysm you just suffered because you just heard the dumbest thing in the world.
“—wait. What did you just say to me?”
“I said we’re environme—”
“Stop. I got it. YOU’RE. ENVIRONMENTALLY. PROHIBITED. FROM. SELLING. CEDAR. PLANKS?!”
“Yeah.”
“A ha. Okay. Who do I have to talk to to get this material?” (I didn’t say ‘talk to’ which rhymes with ‘truck’) (and I didn’t say ‘material’ which rhymes with ‘hit.’)
Which is what I wanted to do. Hit, that is. Something or someone. And bad.
I walked away before Lumber Section Dude got Cowboy Todd’s boot in his ass, and made my way to the only REAL lumber YARD in the city I will ever work with again. Because when I walked onto that place there were forklifts and beaten up trucks and old men who have been working with ENVIRONMENTALLY NOT PROHIBITED lumber since Noah walked his ass in looking for cedar planks (Cowboy Todd is allowed to mix cussing and biblical stories). And these old men don’t even wear gloves while they shake their heads and chuck splinter factories 9′ foot uncut cedar planks and tell them about the idiots over at Stupid Home Improvement Store who might as well wear big, pink bows in their hair and leave the real lumber to these old guys.
And Cowboy Todd.
Who, after two days of fixing what he screwed up (and all by himself for those of you ‘men’ who suggested he quit and hire out the rest of the job) (and you know who you are) (and I have a big, pink bow with your name on it), he finished the job.
Cowboy Todd finished the job.
And that’s one fine looking fence, if you ask him.
A sturdy, cedar split-rail fence he cut and notched in himself and muscled (yes, muscled) the already-set-in-concrete (don’t ask) posts enough to loosen them to make it work.
And by work, Cowboy Todd means keep the big, fat Golden You-Know-Who in the yard. Who actually, honest-to-God had this to say about getting his picture taken again…
“You really are a loser you know that, Cowboy Todd?”
Cowboy Todd is such a stud… But a stupid one: put on you some sunscreen, it’s Health and Wealth, not Pride and Perjudice, for God’s sake…
But that’s an incredible job, avery nice indeed… I think I’m going to hire you (and yes, I’d have litters of Hendrick’s waiting for you in the backyard.)
And thank you, again, for made me laugh. I really needed that today.
Dude fricking hilarious!!! Well done!!
Oh and I love how you apparently hauled your lumber INSIDE a leather clad, fully appointed vehicle. Pick up trucks and trailers are for sissys!