Tuesday, January 15, 2013

I Didn't Ask For Your Help, He Said

Following the events in "I Measured, He Said" another week passed, and Mrs. Snark lived with a huge hole in the kitchen island that had formerly contained a cook top.

Mrs. Snark learned to precariously balance dishes on two inches of counter top in order to unload the dishwasher all at once.  Mrs. Snark mastered the art of microwaving, rediscovering the amazing appliance that had previously sat unused other than for warming up leftovers and making popcorn.

Finally, Saturday morning arrived. The Big Day!

Now, you may recall that a while ago, Mrs. Snark gave Mr. Snark a hard time about the fact that he never puts his drill away when he's done with it. Since then, Mr. Snark has been sullen about asking for help finding his tools.

Have you ever seen a man passive aggressively attempt to obtain help locating something? It's not pretty.

Saturday morning:

Mrs. Snark sat at her computer, attempting to work on her 2013 ABNA submission.

Mr. Snark rumbled past, muttering, "I can't find my drill."

Brow arched, Mrs. Snark glanced over. "If you'd put it back where it belongs, you'd know where it is," she said. Yet again.

"I know where I left it and it's not there," Mr. Snark whined. 

"I'm trying to write. Do you want my help?"

"NO!" And Mr. Snark wandered off in search of the prodigal drill. 

Heavy feet stomped up and down the stairs. Grumbling came from other rooms. Mr. Snark passed through the office several times, muttering, "I can't find my drill."

"Do you want my help?"


An hour passed.

The garage door slammed open and shut.  Language the likes of which Miss Bear ears should never hear resounded like the bellow of an injured bear. At last, Mrs. Snark could stand it no more.

She got up and searched...and searched...and searched some more.

After another hour, Mrs. Snark called an emergency family meeting. "Mr. Snark has lost his drill again. It's black and yellow and says DeWalt on the side. I want you boys to search for it. Look every place that a drill doesn't belong."

Within five minutes, the eldest son cried out. "I found it!" Triumphant, the child returned bearing the missing drill.     

"Where was it?" Mrs. Snark asked. 

"Under your bed."


Mrs. Snark took the drill to Mr. Snark. "The Boy found it under our bed," she said. "Would you care to tell me what it was doing there?"

"I have no idea, but I know how it got there," Mr. Snark said, casting an accusing look at the precious Miss Bear.

"Don't blame the baby. If she put it there, it was because you left it where she could find it. Again. And I've lost two hours of writing time." 

Grasping his drill, Mr. Snark glared at his wife. "I didn't ask for your help," he said.

To Be Continued...