As some of you may remember, I've been working on my house off and on for quite awhile. After wasting a few years on post-car accident surgeries and misery, I've been trying to get my life back in order.
Quite awhile ago I ordered a plasma stand to hold our TV. We already had a funky piece of crap stand, but it really needed to be relocated to the local dump. I was warned when I ordered the new one that it would take a few months to arrive.
Two weeks ago it was finally delivered. The night it arrived I asked Briefcase to please put the TV onto the new table/stand. (Since I'm sort of one-armed and TVs are heavy.) He looked at the new stand and said, "There are no holes for the wires to go through," and then he sat on the couch to
watch ESPN do some very hard work.
The new TV stand has been sitting around with nothing on it for two weeks. Briefcase is, um, not handy … to put it as politely as I can.
I was going to call a handyman to come help me, but the store where I bought the stand said they could send someone out at no charge.
This week I got this message on my home answering machine:
Twenty Four, this is XXXX from XXXX. James can come out to your house tomorrow afternoon to drill your holes. <pause> <giggle> Oops, I don't think that sounded quite right.
My son, PR, and I? We laughed till we cried when we heard the message.
At 2:00 the next day James showed up. While waiting for him to arrive I procrastinated doing chores by Tweeting:
I've got a man coming to drill my holes any minute now.
Those ladies on Twitter? They are horny bitches. If you're a man and in need of some action, I can't recommend Twitter highly enough. You should especially follow the
hos chicks who follow me.
I started getting all sorts of offers from women on Twitter for James before he'd even arrived. I thwarted their efforts to steal James away to have their holes drilled. Jeez, they were even offering to pay money for him!
Then the doorbell rang. By that time, my mind was completely in the gutter. I couldn't help myself, I immediately checked out his drill. James had a big drill.
I showed James to my living room so he could drill my holes.
James looked confused. James looked deep in thought. There are times when a woman wants a thinker, but it's never when she's waiting to have her holes drilled.
I sent out a quick tweet:
OK, this is no good. He's confused over what should go in which hole. FAIL.
Shortly after, James started making a lot of noise and I updated Twitter with this information:
Jeez … he's got a huuuuuuuuuge drill!
James worked fast once he got the hang of it. Too fast, really. It's always nice to have a man who takes his time. It wasn't long at all until James was thanking me (for the opportunity to drill my holes?) and on his way.
I updated all the ladies who were anxiously waiting for news on James with this:
The man with the big drill just left. He was a disappointment.
The whores on Twitter were not surprised. I got all sorts of comments back saying, "it figures," and "typical."
Apparently, the bigger the drill . . . oftentimes, the bigger the disappointment.
At that point I went back and reread my Twitter stream. I decided I needed to start being more productive for the day so I sent out my final tweet on the subject:
I'm all sorts of inappropriate today. How unusual.
© Twenty Four At Heart