At Work Upstairs

H, picks up phone and dials his work number.

D, answers: “Hello Fragrant WorkPlace.”

H: “Do we have a hacksaw?”

D: silence.

H: “So, do we have a hacksaw?”

D: “Yeeessss. It’s in the toolbox.”

H: “Ok, bye.”

D: “Wait. Wait. ”

H: silence.

D: “What do you need the hack saw for?”

H: “To hack something.”

D: “Can’t it wait till I get home?”

H: “Nope. Gotta do it now.”

D: “Do what?”

H: “Hack off that rusty-shower-thing. I got a new one.”

D: “Use the red-handled wire cutters.”

H: “Didn’t work. Gonna use that hack saw. Gotta go. Bye”

D: “Wait. Wa. . .”

Click.

It’s a crap excuse for a hack saw. Blade doesn’t stay in place. But it was better than the pruning saw, the wire strippers, the exacto knife, and the wire cutters. I have defeated the rusting-shower-thing.

There’s the phone.

H: picking up the phone but saying nothing as an attempt to foil the telemarketers

D: “Hello. Hello. Hello.”

H: “Oh hi”

D: “So how many fingers do you have?”

H: “Enough. Why?”

D: “Weeelll. The line was busy. And I thought maybe you’d had to call emergency and then left the phone off the hook.”

H: “But why.”

D: “The hack saw. You. Teetering on the edge of the tub. Whack. Slip. Blood.”

H: “I used a chair.”

D: “Okaaaay.”

H: “That’s a crap hack saw. And you need a new blade.”

D: “Okaaay. I’ll see you later.”

H: “Yup. Bye.”

You know, since he’s already imagining blood-spattered bathrooms, this may not be a good time to recommend Haddon’s Spot of Bother which I finished yesterday even though I did have to close my eyes for a bit in the middle.

Heather