Thursday, April 29, 2010

He ain't heavy. He's my ladder.

The entire month of April has been busy. I was going to start out saying just this week, but I like to keep it real.

I've been in the midst of a project with a great group of ladies. The details are unimportant because this post is really about Hubs and me. I will say that part of the project has involved painting and part of the painting has involved ladders.

Last weekend three of us were painting when we realized that we only had two ladders. We could really use a third to knock out some of the work. So, I called Hubs.

"Hey, can you do me a favor?"

"Sure."

"Could you bring me the ladder?"

"Sure."

"And my two glue guns?"

"Yep."

So I met him outside the building, retrieved the ladder and glue guns, then headed back to our project.

Let me tell you about something about Hubs.

When he buys something, it is for function. No form. Function. The tool or gadget does not need bells and whistles but, if it does have a bell or a whistle, you'd better believe they are made from titanium alloy or stainless steel. His structural standards make Craftsman's warranty look pitiful.

This ladder of ours is no ordinary painter's ladder. It extends and contorts into every kind of ladder you could possibly need. It is heavy, durable, and could withstand gale force winds, which seems to be a really good measure of sound construction. (Not that I'd be on a ladder during gale force winds, but I'm just sayin.')

Under normal circumstances, that's a good thing. Under my circumstances, not so much. I had to carry this ladder for, I don't know, a mile or two (maybe I'm stretching it) on one shoulder while carrying a tote bag of glue guns on the other. It wasn't really heavy, just cumbersome.

Hindsight would urge my independent self to have Hubs carry the ladder, but hindsight is a lot like return labels on mail- completely useless.

I managed to carry the ladder and use it, then carry it back to my car when we were all finished. Fast forward to last night when I noticed the small bruises on my arm and shoulder.

Bruises from a ladder that didn't even fall on me.

I said to Hubs, "Look at my arm. Look at the bruises from that awful ladder of yours."

He said in his usual, caring tone, "Yep. You learned a valuable lesson that day."

"Yeah, don't call your husband and ask him to bring you his ladder."

"Yep."

"Yep."

Nearly sixteen years of marriage and he still knows how to show me he cares.

3 comments:

Laura said...

sweet. in my case my husband doesn't know what a ladder or tools are for.

Carpool Queen said...

I hold our flimsy ladder for my husband while he climbs onto the roof of the house to blow leaves in the fall.

As I brace my body against it, I close my eyes so as not to be confronted with the awful truth that he may or may not exceed the weight capacity.

Did I mention it was flimsy?

I might soon be mentioning a trip to the ER.

Roxanne said...

(Not that I'd be on a ladder during gale force winds, but I'm just sayin.')

Loved this. . .