What is it about a trip to the hardware store, or what I call my husband’s shopping utopia, that is just so horrible. I’m not talking about the small Mom & Pop hardware stores, I can usually entertain myself there. I’m talking about the mega-large hardware havens for the die-hard do-it-your-selfers.
My husband promises it will just be a quick, one-stop shop to pick up some new barbecue items but before I know it I have been whirled into the lumber department…then plumbing…flooring…garden…fencing and lighting. It’s never ending.
I swear when we drive into the parking lot my boys cringe at the sight of the store. They know they are in for a marathon shop. I on the other hand always believe THIS TIME will be different. Yes, it will only take a minute. There is nothing else we need. Nothing.
Yeah right. We might not need it, but we are sure as hell going to look at it. Roofing nails, heavy staplers, air compressors, wood stain, hoses…OMG so many dang hoses and sizes, diameters and lengths. Let’s not forget the cement aisle, because oh yes, one day we might want to mix up some dang cement. And then there’s this aisle with rolls and rolls of chains and wires and now my boys are rolling and laying on the concrete floor. “Daddy please, please can we go? Our legs are going to fall off.”
It’s literally horrible. It’s never different. Why can’t I learn? I need an intervention.
And then it happens. He finally agrees it’s time to check out and we turn down an aisle to head towards the cashier, BUT IT JUST HAPPENS TO BE THE DREADED NUT AND BOLTS AISLE! Kill me now.
I kid you not, we remain in that holy-hell screw aisle for at least forty-five minutes. I’m still amazed I didn’t spontaneously combust.
I swear, I’m never going back.
One Year Ago Today: Coincidence or Conspiracy