What a grand time you had watching the Super Bowl with your beer-swilling buddies. You brilliantly charmed your way through Valentine's Day, and hoisted a few during Mardi Gras. You glance at the picture of a Red-Necked Grebe on your Audubon wall calendar and realize spring has already begun. The days are longer and you notice you aren't needing a sweater as much. Visions of Springtime dance through your head. A time when an Old Man's Fancy turns to thoughts of.......puttering around the house.
You can almost feel your frozen brittle old bones beginning to thaw, and what's left of your testosterone slogging through your thin veins. You fantasize about replacing the front door the dog nearly scratched a hole in, finishing the bird feeder you started three years ago when your grandson visited, putting fresh caulk around the windows, and building raised flower beds that will be the envy of your neighbors.
You can't stand the torture any longer. You jump into your Buick (that you proudly boast has 167,000 miles) and head for the Virile Guy's Utopia. That Bastion of Masculinity. That Ultimate Harbinger of Pure Manly Joy. THE HOME DEPOT!
As you enter the store, you can almost hear the Heavenly Angels heralding your arrival with their golden trumpets! You proudly navigate a steel utility cart through the aisles, brushing aside offers of assistance from employees sporting orange aprons. Your cart quickly fills with items on your list, plus a few other shiny baubles like a new socket wrench set, table saw, red wheelbarrow, and various other trinkets you suddenly realize you need to complete your projects. So what if the plants are left over from last season and frozen solid in their containers.
You arrive home, stretch, yawn, and remember it's time for your afternoon nap and, well, a nice, cold beer sounds pretty good; besides you can unload the car tomorrow. You contentedly snuggle deep into your recliner, satisfied with your morning accomplishments, and thinking about all those home repair projects. Of course, the old caulking around the windows seems to be holding up pretty well, and a little shoe polish on the front door might conceal the dog scratches. Do the neighbors actually care whether or not you have raised flower beds? And is it really fair to your grandson to finish that bird feeder without him?
As you lazily drift into slumber, you smile, remembering The Home Depot's no-questions-asked return policy.
You can almost feel your frozen brittle old bones beginning to thaw, and what's left of your testosterone slogging through your thin veins. You fantasize about replacing the front door the dog nearly scratched a hole in, finishing the bird feeder you started three years ago when your grandson visited, putting fresh caulk around the windows, and building raised flower beds that will be the envy of your neighbors.
You can't stand the torture any longer. You jump into your Buick (that you proudly boast has 167,000 miles) and head for the Virile Guy's Utopia. That Bastion of Masculinity. That Ultimate Harbinger of Pure Manly Joy. THE HOME DEPOT!
As you enter the store, you can almost hear the Heavenly Angels heralding your arrival with their golden trumpets! You proudly navigate a steel utility cart through the aisles, brushing aside offers of assistance from employees sporting orange aprons. Your cart quickly fills with items on your list, plus a few other shiny baubles like a new socket wrench set, table saw, red wheelbarrow, and various other trinkets you suddenly realize you need to complete your projects. So what if the plants are left over from last season and frozen solid in their containers.
You arrive home, stretch, yawn, and remember it's time for your afternoon nap and, well, a nice, cold beer sounds pretty good; besides you can unload the car tomorrow. You contentedly snuggle deep into your recliner, satisfied with your morning accomplishments, and thinking about all those home repair projects. Of course, the old caulking around the windows seems to be holding up pretty well, and a little shoe polish on the front door might conceal the dog scratches. Do the neighbors actually care whether or not you have raised flower beds? And is it really fair to your grandson to finish that bird feeder without him?
As you lazily drift into slumber, you smile, remembering The Home Depot's no-questions-asked return policy.
