Folks are always talking about winning a “make over.”
That can involve any and everything from getting your eyebrows waxed to someone looking like Miss Piggy checking into an expensive spa and coming out six weeks later looking like Miss Crawford. The thought of anyone ripping away half my eyebrows causes words to erupt from my mouth that border on severe sinning. The idea of turning my Miss Piggy body into one like Cindy Crawford’s in a mere six weeks is straight-jacket goofy.
Since a physical make over is as probable as my gray hair turning black of its own volition, I’ve got a request to make. Could we forego the magical experience of turning my body into something tantalizing and instead could I please win a garage make over?
Last week I peeped into the garage. Producers could make a movie out there and call it Nightmare on Sixth Street. If an item has lived in my house in the past forty years and is no longer living in my house, it is now living in the garage. Husband is a renowned pack rat. Matter of fact, he may be in the Guiness Book of World Records. If you look under “pack rat” I’m sure there he would sit in the middle of his garage, surrounding by enough stuff to validate his entry.
Seemed like a really nice thing to want to win for him, and then behold if I didn’t see an article on the internet that said, “Win a Garage Make Over!” I was flabbergasted beyond words. Talk about someone being for real certifiably straight-jacket goofy. Had they never looked inside our garage?
I moved my little mouse around to click on the directions to put in my application. First name, last name, address, e-mail address, why did I want to have my garage made over?
The first four weren’t so hard to answer. I’ve known my first and last name a good many years. And after more than forty years of looking at this address on the top of my checks, I’ve pretty well gotten it memorized. Husband made the e-mail address simple enough I don’t get too confused. But that last question was the stinger. I could say in 25 words or less why I wanted to have my garage made over, but they’d disqualify my entry for sure if I told them how tough a job they were facing.
Let’s see: My garage is organizationally challenged and would benefit from your expertise greatly. Pack rat Husband will be gone two days in August. Bring bull dozer.
That one sounded pretty honest, but it didn’t say I couldn’t fill out more than one application to win this wonderful prize. Just to be sure I went out to the garage and took one more look. Yep, I’d better enter at least one more time. Fifty times wouldn’t hurt. So I closed the site down, pulled it right back up and started all over again.
Second attempt: Two boxes of every size wood scraps imaginable offered free to garage make over folks. Bring back hoe. Have sleeping pills for Husband.
Twenty first try: Bring camera for before and after pictures. Without living proof no one would ever believe how much magic you can work. Guaranteed to create business!
Thirty fourth: Promise to spray for spiders and scorpions. Lack of oxygen killed the rats. Door sticks. Bring WD-40. Can’t find mine. It’s in the garage somewhere.
Forty second: Taking Husband to Pennsylvania for two weeks. Please have job finished when I get home. Burn the trunk in the corner and all the contents.
Fiftieth and last attempt: Find it? Throw it out. Keep it. Sell it. Give it to your grandmother for Christmas. No questions asked. Pressing my black suit for divorce court.
All I ask if I win is to let me know which application they pulled out of cyberspace so I know what to do with Husband while they are out there yanking their hair out by the roots. When it’s over he’ll be so excited to have all his tools put on cute little bright yellow shelves; all his screws, bolts and nails organized into those clear plastic boxes; and the dried up paint thrown away.
But bring tissues, for when he sits in the middle of the floor and cries like a baby because you threw away that jar of used, rusted screws!
