Mike and Electricity Don’t Mix
My husband needs to learn an important lesson: Just because a book gives you instructions it doesn’t mean you should use them. Take that Saturday years ago in our first home. I walked down the basement, carrying Tory with Max trailing not far behind me and saw Mike laying tools out along the basement floor over near the main electrical panel.
“What are you doing?” I asked immediately suspicious since I didn’t recognize his usual handyman tools of hammer, tape measure and drill.
“Not much.” he replied, barely glancing up.
Mike is like that. He communicates on a need to know basis: If he doesn’t think you need to know, he won’t tell you. And he is prince of fewest words spoken to communicate a thought. The only man I know who speaks fewer words than Mike is his Dad Ken. That man could win a national contest “Most Said in Fewest Words”. . .if there was such a contest, I mean. Ken’s emails are legendary in the family. I kid you not, but that’s another story.
Clearly, Mike was up to something and that “something” was undoubtedly to save us the price of employing someone qualified to do the job and guaranteed to cost us a lot in new tools purchased.
I sighed, shifted Tory from one hip to the other, thinking about men and their toys. “So, what kind of ‘not much’ takes this kind of tools and electrical wire?” I asked.
Looking at me carefully to make sure I was paying attention to the answer, he said, “I’m moving an electrical line from here to here, motioning broadly with his hands.
I stare at him in disbelief. “Have you been hanging out too much with our darling daughter?” I asked as I gave her a little wiggle in my arms. “You know, she of the recent obsession with the main hallway’s electrical outlet?”
I KNOW you can die from getting electrocuted. Maybe I should just throw my tea on him as soon as he touches a wire and get the instant death experience over with. My hand quivers as my right brain fights with the left.
Taking a deep breath, I opened my mouth to begin listing all the logical reasons why he should NOT be doing this project, then I glanced over at him again. And saw he was paying absolutely no attention to me and didn’t seem at all fazed by my concerns about mixing an amateur (him) with electricity (something not to be messed with). Changing my mind, I whirled around and stomped upstairs. My partings words?
“I’m keeping the kid upstairs with me. They don’t need to see their Dad fry before their very eyes.”
Mike was down the basement for a while and no screams floated upstairs. Just as I was beginning to relax a little, thinking surely he must be almost done, I heard a spitzing sound and a huge T H U M P, followed by Mike’s voice sorta shrieking “Yeeoowww.”
I took off at a dead run for the basement, practically tumbled down the stairs, and found Mike getting up from where he had apparently just landed on his butt. It was about 8 feet from where he had been working.
Shaking his head, he said, ‘I thought I turned that breaker off.”
I wanted to thump him one alongside the head, but the electrical shock he received had taken care of that for me already.
Is your significant other handy? What projects has he/she done lately? Entertain us!