I’m a Stripper

July 1, 2015.Reading time 4 minutes.

We all have a past. The question is, do we have a future?

I’ve been telling my lovely wife that we needed to start thinking about how we were going to spend our future together once the children leave. We are getting dangerously close now that JB is almost 15. The last thing I want is to send her to college with no plan for us.

I don’t want to be one of those couples who sits down in the empty nest, looks at each other and has no idea what to say or do. The problem is, we are vastly different people. I like things athletic – not watching them, doing them. I like running, exercising, hiking, and all kinds of outdoorsy things. I love camping! The kind of stuff that makes you sweaty and smelly.

My wife? Not so much. She’s a girly-girl, not given to athletics. She won’t run unless someone in a hockey mask is chasing her. I suggested camping where I could go off and hike a day or two and she could sit and read. No dice, she likes the comfort of her own bed and a clean bathroom.

How did we end up together? She’s a really good girly-girl and I’m a smelly but lucky guy.

Okay, but none of that solves our problem.

We both love to read, but I have yet to figure out a way to make reading a team sport.

Then it happened, quite by accident. An epiphany…

I am an excellent stripper!

Let me share with you just how we figured it out. We bought a desk off of Craigslist a while back and she painted it for JB’s room. Soon after, a few more accessories joined the room including a chair. Unfortunately, all of the new pieces were white, not the freshly-painted ivory color of the desk. Something had to change.

I am reluctant to allow my wife to borrow my tools, because they are the only thing I outright own. They are mine. But she sweet-talked me into my sander which failed to take off the thirteen coats of poly she had applied to the desk.

We needed a stripper.

I prefer making furniture these days. But before I had a shop, I used to refinish old pieces. I hate to be prideful, but I really know how to strip. I even saved some of the really strong solvent from when it was still available. I wondered if it would still be toxic enough to work. I now see why the EPA banned it because even after fifteen years of storage it tore through that poly like a monkey on a cupcake.

* * * * * * * * * *

And so I stripped like nobody’s business. She watched me strip hoping to learn so we could strip together. We talked about all of the stripping we could do once the kids left. I did tell her that we would have to strip for other people because we don’t have room in our home for all of the stripping we plan to do. And now with all of this stripping to look forward to, I’m excited about our future without kids.

(Also, I’m hoping you read the whole post and not just the last paragraph.)

Hold the Phone

June 24, 2015.Reading time 4 minutes.

We’ve all been there. It’s awkward, annoying, and somewhat disturbing to be in a public restroom, minding your own business when someone in another stall takes a phone call. There you are listening. You can’t help it. They might whisper or somehow try to cover the fact that they are in a restroom, but some seem to have no conscious about it at all. They just talk away regardless of the signature echo of the porcelain environment.

tp phone

I once had a co-worker who said to take a call in the bathroom was the height of arrogance. I don’t know if I agree with that, but I do think it is rude and can’t bring myself to do it. It would just feel wrong to tell Aunt Mabel about little Billy’s birthday party from that position.

When did we as a society get to the point where no phone call can wait two minutes? (Or ten for the fiber-deficient.)

While we’re on the subject of bathrooms, I’ve got a little complaint to the people of New York City. I understand you are a crowded place. But seriously, there should be some limit to the number of urinals you can put in a bathroom. When a broad-shouldered hayseed from Georgia comes to see a show, his visit to the bathroom should be a solitary affair instead of one that makes him feel like he has been recruited into the follies kick line.

By far the worst bathroom in my experience was in the Army. I remember being corralled into our barracks on the first day of basic training. After the drill sergeant-induced shock eased, I took a quick trip to the bathroom only to find it lacked a significant item – doors. Not a door or partition in the room. Just four elevated toilets, four urinals, and six sinks. Yes, we spent eight weeks getting to know each other very well (or holding it all day hoping to find solitude at night).

For the male reader, what is proper etiquette for talking to a fellow bathroom-goer? If we agree that phone use is wrong, is it wrong to say hello to the man next to you? I am okay with a terse, non-looking, “Hello” or “Sup”, but don’t try to engage me in conversation. No matter how friendly the banter, that crosses several lines I am just not comfortable with.

Okay, back the original point. I believe I have found the perfect solution to the bathroom phone talker. It is something everyone can do, and if we all do it, we might create a social moray that ends phone conversations in public restrooms for good. When someone answers a phone call in a public restroom, it is our civic duty to out the heck out of them.

FLUSH!

Then FLUSH again!

And add a few more FLUSHES for good measure!

Whatever the person on the other end of the line might hear, they are certainly going to hear the unmistakable swoosh of a toilet flush.

You know what happens if we all do this?

A movement starts.

Well, not that kind of movement, but you get the idea.