Hard Wood…?

Hard head!

Laying there, suggestively, he said almost mockingly, “You don’t have the nerve to dump me”.

“Oh, no? You’re toast” she said with a smile.

“You’ll never do it, you can’t manage without me, face it, you love me”, came the answer.

” You’re old, you’re worn, no woman would want you, you’re fraying at the edges and you just don’t fit anymore, I may have loved you once but you’re nothing to me anymore. Look! You let me walk all over you.” she said.

“Ha! Those insults mean nothing, I have no feelings, and don’t forget you’re used to me, you love the feel of me, you’ve, how do you say, ‘connected’ with me.” His words were lost on her she was already on her knees, ready to rip him from her life.

“Say a prayer, you old lay about”, she said through gritted teeth.

And then with Linda Hamilton’s Terminator strength (and perceived good looks), she firmly grasped the edge and began to slowly tear away at the clinging seams, then as her confidence grew, she began ripping away the threads of the relationship that had once served her so well. But there was no time to look back, she had made her decision and she was determined to fulfill her desire to move forward.

‘Pass the putty knife’, Lisa looked at me.

“Oh, sure”. I said handing her one of the tools in my hand.

“I can’t believe we’re ripping up this old carpet!! I’m so excited!!” she said, with double exclamation points.

We worked away until the main floor living and dining room wall to wall carpet had been ripped, rolled and relocated to the basement. We removed the underpad, pryed off the tackless and removed endless staples for 5 solid hours. We had to move all the main floor furniture at least TWICE to accomplish our task which included moving a piano. A grown man would have wept trying to keep up with us at the speed and dexterity we went about accomplishing our task especially since that included tending to the needs of three chidren under five years.

In the end I left her with my tools smoking from the work out and walked myself home. I walked like Clint Eastwood in full strut (because my knees refused to carry me like the lady I aspire to be). That carpet put up a good fight and the tackless was tackled and I’m scratched all over my hands to prove a battle was waged with those insipid staples, my muscles throbbed from the lifting and relifting.

But I feel like I won, and these days feeling like a winner helps get me closer to fine.