Friday Levity 09.12.2008

There is a place in your kitchen where I suspect toxic and non-toxic items reside, side by side, day in and day out. A place where you put things and forget about them, only to find them later. Some of you might be thinking "refrigerator", and I'm confident that guess would have some validity. But that's not what I speak of. It's a place I visit only when absolutely needed, and each time I go there, my emotions run the spectrum from anger to jubilation. I had to work on my sink this week. The place I speak of? Underneath the kitchen sink.
.
First of all, I despise the design of the area underneath the sink, including the typical cabinet design. The floor of the kitchen sink is about three inches above the kitchen floor. To work on a kitchen sink, you must lie on your back with only a portion of you underneath the sink, and the remainder of you hanging out in odd, unnatural contortions on the kitchen floor. In my opinion, the area under the sink should hold at least half a body with plenty of room to maneuver around. But, unless you're a sideshow with a traveling circus, most people can only get their head and shoulders in that small, cramped space. And the floor of the cabinet then strikes you painfully and directly across your back. And then, the remainder of your body is bent downward as it flops around on the kitchen floor. Thus, I first feel the emotion of anger as I prepare to work on the sink. And then I experience more anger as I discover that I don't have the right tools and I am required to crawl out and then re-insert myself again. And then more anger as I work on the sink as I tear it apart. Finally, finally, I approach calmness as I get everything put back together. I turn the water supply back on, and if there are no leaks, jubilation! However, if there are leaks, I start over with the anger part (intensified) and I repeat this emotional rollercoaster ride.
.
Of course, before I can work on the sink, I have to remove the small truckload of items residing under the sink, both toxic and non-toxic. Drano, bleach, oven cleaner. Scrubbing cleansers. Kitchen garbage bags (empty, unused ones thankfully!). Dishwashing soap. Dishwasher soap. Rubber gloves. Oh, and that mixing bowl which Mrs. T has been searching for. She has continually accused me in its disappearance. Sheesh, I had forgotten I put it under there to catch leaks. I'm still not sure how I'll explain its mysterious reappearance with all of her other mixing bowls. There was an old mousetrap which wasn't set (when you live in the country, mousetraps are a first line of defense, but obviously, they work better if baited and set).
.
Of course, most people seldom see, nor remember, a lot of this stuff found underneath the kitchen sink. Typically, most people only deal with the items on the front fringes which are accessed frequently and easily. Everything else gets pushed to the back. Only the people who work on the sink actually get to discover what lives in that dark recess. I still haven't told Mrs.T about everything I found. I would have never guessed that mold could flourish on the underneath side of a sink like that. And most importantly, I haven't told her about all the things I put in the garbage. I sure hope she wasn't keeping that pretty, dainty flower vase for sentimental reasons. . .hmmm. . .was that the one she got on our first anniversary. . .or did she get it after the birth of one our children . . .hmmm. . .suddenly, as I write this, it is now painfully obvious that my emotional rollercoaster ride, while under the sink, clouded my judgment and decision making ability. . .I wonder if that would stand up in a court of law. . .
.
.
.
On their 50th wedding anniversary, a couple summed up the reason for their long and happy marriage.

The husband said, "I have tried never to be selfish. After all, there is no "I" in the word 'marriage.'"'

The wife said, "For my part, I have never corrected my husband's spelling."
.
.
"It was different when we were kids. In second grade, a teacher came in and gave us all a lecture about not smoking, and then they sent us over to arts and crafts to make ashtrays for Mother's Day." --Paul Clay
.
.
Two mothers are having a conversation about their children one day.

"How do you get your Marvin up so early on school mornings?" asks Joan.

"Oh, that's easy," replies Marianne. "I just throw the cat on his bed."

"Why does that wake him up?", asks Joan.

"He sleeps with the dog!", replied Marianne.
.
.
.
A repeat, but in this election year, it's worthy of a second time:
.
While stitching up the hand of a 75 year old Queensland farmer, who got cut on a gate while working cattle, the rural doctor struck up a conversation with the old man. Eventually the topic got around to Kevin and his appointment to Prime Minister of Australia.

"Well, ya know," drawled the old farmer, "this Rudd fella is what they call a fencepost turtle."

Not being familiar with the term, the doctor asked him what a fencepost turtle was.

The old farmer said, "when you're driving along a country road and you come across a fence post with a turtle balanced on top, that's called a fencepost turtle."

The old farmer saw a puzzled look on the doctor's face, so he continued to explain, "You know he didn't get up there by himself, he definitely doesn't belong up there, he doesn't know what to do while he is up there, and you just gotta wonder what kind of dill put him up there in the first place!''

.
.
A real groaner. . .I should repent for having included it...

There was a painter named Wayne who was very interested in making a penny where he could, so he often over-thinned his paint to make it go a wee bit further. As it happened, he got away with this for some time, until the Baptist Church decided to do a big restoration job on one of their biggest buildings.

Wayne put in a bid, and because his price was so low, he got the job. So he set about erecting the scaffolding and setting up the planks, and buying the paint, and yes, I am sorry to say, over-thinning it with turpentine.

Well, Wayne was up on the scaffolding, painting away, the job nearly completed, when suddenly there was a horrendous clap of thunder, the sky opened, and the rain poured down, washing the thinned paint off the church and knocking Wayne clear off the scaffold to land on the lawn among the gravestones, surrounded by telltale puddles of the over-thinned and useless paint. Wayne was no fool.

He knew this was a judgment from the Almighty, so he got down on his knees and cried: 'Forgive me, forgive me, what must I do to be forgiven?'

And from the thunder, a mighty voice spoke, "Repaint! Repaint! And thin no more!"
.
.