Tag Archives: husbands

When Bad Things Happen to Good Grill Tools

GRILL TOOLS“Honey, have you seen my grill tools?” asked my husband, as he ran in from his grilling post on the back deck.

I pointed to the cabinet over the fridge.

“No, those are my back-up grill tools,” he clarified. “I’m looking for my good grill tools.”

I rolled my eyes. I knew what grill tools he was looking for. They were the uber-expensive ones in their own titanium case. They came with a matching monogrammed branding iron and a lifetime guarantee against rust, dullness, and Kryptonite. They were the ones that had been missing in action for about a year.

“You keep asking me and I keep telling you I don’t know where they are,” I responded.

He mumbled something under his breath.

“WHAT?” I demanded.

“I think you put them away somewhere and forgot where,” he said a little louder.

I glared and thrust a lesser grill spatula at him. “Since I am not the one who uses the grill tools, I don’t think I’m the one who put them away somewhere and forgot where.”

Although I was miffed, I had to admit, this was not a completely unjust accusation. In past cleaning frenzies, I have been known to move things from one location to another in an attempt to create more storage space than we actually have.

The problem is, sometimes I move stuff… and then move it again… and then, maybe one more time, until eventually I can’t remember the last place I moved it to.

With any luck, the thing I moved ends up back in the first location and no one is the wiser. But sometimes, the occasional object gets relocated and for the life of me, I have no idea where it is. Although I am quick to blame it on another family member, or a ghost, or the same black hole that snatches socks from my washing machine, the sad truth is, if something is missing, I am usually the culprit.

Still, I was pretty sure that the missing grill tool case was not my doing. I had tried to move it once before and when I couldn’t find a pantry shelf or closet that would accommodate it, I gave up and left it in the kitchen. Where it went after that, though, was beyond me.

“Maybe it was stolen?” I suggested to my husband

“You think someone broke into our house, ignored the TVs and computers, and just ran off with my grill tools?”

“They are in a titanium case,” I said. “And there is that monogrammed branding iron in there. Maybe a depraved cowboy broke into our house and took the case so he could steal cattle and use the branding iron with your initials to throw the police off his trail.”

“A depraved cowboy?” He wondered. “In the suburbs?”

“Yes.”

“You sticking with that story?”

“I am,” I said.

“OK. Let me know when you find my grill tools.”

Two days later, I opened a linen cabinet that I open multiple times every day, and there, right in plain sight, under a bunch of tablecloths, was the titanium grill tool case.

It had been a year, so my memory was fuzzy. But somewhere in the back of my mind, I did kind of remember that I had stashed the case on that shelf. I felt terrible and immediately regretted blaming my husband for my actions. I knew that the key to a great marriage is to admit when you have made a mistake, so I picked up the phone to call my husband.

“Great news!” I exclaimed. “The cowboy returned your grill case!”

©2014, Beckerman. All rights reserved.

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Hibernating in the Man Cave

“Joe got a Man Cave,” said my husband, referring to a friend of ours who, apparently, had become a Neantherthal.

Poster_of_the_movie_The_Neanderthal_Man“Excuse me?” I responded.

“He got a Man Cave.  You know, a room in the basement that is just for him.”

“And…”

“Sounds kind of like a cool idea,” he said wistfully.

I shook my head.  “You want a Man Cave?  There’s a spot between the tool bench and the washing machine,” I said to him.  “Knock yourself out.”

“Joe’s cave has a big screen TV, refrigerator, sound system and massage chair.”

“We have most of that already,” I said. “It’s called our house.”

He grunted and gave me a wave of dismissal as he stormed out of the room.  I thought it was fitting that someone who wanted a Man Cave would, at that moment, act like a caveman.

I was playing dumb, but I knew what he wanted.  He wanted his own space equipped with his own stuff where he could go to escape the teenagers and the dog and the wife.  The truth was, we already had a cave.  But there wasn’t much room down there for cavemen. It was the place where we stored all our out-of-season clothes, luggage and other infrequently used items, as well as the home of the laundry machines, tool bench, and old things I knew I was keeping for a reason but could not for the life of me remember what they were.

Our cave also had cave crickets… oversized prehistoric-looking versions of the kind you find outdoors. These gargantuan creatures lived in our basement and tended to jump out of the corners and scare the heck out of me when I would go down to do the laundry.   There was also stuff down there that hasn’t been seen since the Neolithic Era, as well as some old electronics my husband said are “dinosaurs.”  As far as I was concerned, we already had all the makings of a true caveman’s cave.  Just not the kind my husband had in mind.

Screen Shot 2014-01-15 at 3.07.48 PMNevertheless, I wanted to accommodate him. He worked hard and I knew when he got home from a day of din of the office and entered the din of the house, he would like someplace to go briefly for some quiet.

“Hey honey, we don’t really have the room to set up the basement as a Man Cave, but I know you could use a room of your own, so I created a space just for you,” I told him one day when he got home from work.

His face brightened.  “Really?”   Then a look of bewilderment crept across his brow.  He knew every room in our house was spoken for and couldn’t imagine how I had managed to squeeze a Man Cave into our crowded space.

Beaming, I took his hand and led him down the hall.

“Ta-da!” I announced, throwing open the bathroom door.

“This is the bathroom,” he said.

“I know. But I put an Ipod in there and some reading material and a couple of snacks so it can be your own private retreat!” I replied, gesturing around at all the new accessories.

“Thanks Honey, but it’s not quite what I had in mind.”

“I know, but it’s better!” I assured him.

“How do you figure?” He wondered.

“You never have to leave your cave to go to the bathroom.”

©2014, Beckerman. All rights reserved.

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