Stories from the One Armed Paper Hanger
Aaahhhh. You know, you’ve got too much going on when it’s a relief to get to work. I just have one boss here—at home I have five, and they all wanted it done last week. I just hope they don’t decide to fire me!

Saturday was a good one. As noted Friday, this was the day of reckoning for the Cub Scout Bake-Off, and things did not get off to an auspicious start.

My son’s cake had been getting stale in the refrigerator since Thursday, so I figured that the icing design on the top would be dry. I covered it all up with plastic wrap and threw it and my Cub Scout into the car without a worry. Until I got to the school cafeteria and tried to unwrap the cake. The carefully squirted-on Wolf Badge design was done in icing gel, which apparently had not dried out, and was now showing a remarkable affinity for plastic wrap. All of that hard work was now transferred to a sheet of flimsy film which had started clinging all over itself and the icing design.

Trying not to show panic (because Wolf Cubs can smell fear, and if they do, their eyes get really sad and they start to cry and kill you with overwhelming guilt) I whipped out the one tool that can always be counted on to save the day—or get me arrested in an airport—my legendary Uncle Henry pocketknife. Deftly scraping little wads of yellow gel goo off of the plastic wrap, I carefully reconstructed the outline of the design. As I finished, one of the moms complimented me on my daring rescue and bravery in the face of disaster. Spent by the ordeal, I could only manage a wan smile and utter a few words, “Uhh, well, uhh, I didn’t think it would stick.” She gave me that knowing look that women give men who get in over their heads with such projects. What made it worse is that I should have known better. Oh well, at least I got it fixed.

And apparently fixed well enough for my bud to get “Best Cub Scout Theme”! There was much rejoicing and ritualistic shaking of hands and saluting.

Afterwards, we journeyed to the wondrous land of Head Start to get his hair cut by attractive young maidens who all look like Mandy Moore. You know, a long time ago, men went to the barber shop, where there were hunting magazines and a bunch of phlegmatic old men who smelled like Old Spice and bait. Back then, no self-respecting man would ever set foot in a beauty saloon. Either I have no self respect or I’m not a man, but give me Head Start any stinkin’ day of the week. There are three in my little dinky town. THREE! They even have hunting magazines. I love America!

After completion of our pulchritude fix for the day, it was time to go to Food World to pick up the meat’n’cheese tray we had ordered for five year old Catgirl’s birthday. Go to deli—“Here’s your meat tray.” Trouble. “But my wife ordered a meat AND cheese tray.”

When she ordered it back on Thursday, the young duuuuude who took the order had apparently just gotten back from his dope break and was having a lot of trouble working the pencil.

“Uhhhhh. You want cheese on there?”

“Yes, meat and cheese.”

“And meat? Oh, wait, yeah, okay, meat, my bad, duh! What’s your name, ma’am? (What a nice young man—still retains his manners even while a monkey perches on his back) ‘O-G-S.’ Sorry. ‘O-G-L-B.’ Sorry. ‘O-G-L-E-Y.’ Sorry. ‘O-G-L-E-S-Y.’ Sorry. ‘ O-G-L-E-S-B-Y.’ Hey, I got it!” Such pride of accomplishment.

And my wife was concerned that he was not using an order form, but a yellow legal pad…silly person!

Luckily, the Saturday clerk was up to her hairnet in customers, so her quick decision was either to get me to wait so she could remake it, or she would knock 10 bucks off the tray price. I got her to discount the price, then went and got $10 worth of cheese. Got back home, got everyone dressed, including a wife who has been down with flu or diphtheria since Thursday. (I blame the deli dude, but she insists it was because I coughed in her face all night earlier in the week.) She managed to drag herself to the van, I threw everything in and we took off for her mom and dad’s house. Luckily, they live in the same town as us, so whenever we can’t get the house cleaned up enough (which is never), they are gracious enough to allow us to hold festivities in their house.

Little Girl has already had a party at school, so this one was just for immediate family. My mom came over, and my wife’s semi-invalid aunt who is temporarily living with my in-laws came up from downstairs. We ate lots of food, the children fought with each other, and Catherine blew out her candle and licked the frosting off of it. Then it was time to return to Maison d’ Possum to begin the exciting Social Studies Project!

Ah, the wonders of the Social Studies Project! This was to be done by our second girl, who is in the third grade. It was an extracurricular thing. She signed up for it unpressured by mommy or daddy. And then piddled away her time waiting for the teacher to assign her to a group. Until Friday, when the teacher said she could do an individual project. Which would be just fine, except it is due today. I tell you what, if I had to go back and do elementary school again, I could do some kick-butt projects. As it is, I tried to let her do as much as possible, and act only as a creative consultant. Which would have been much easier with more than one day and the fragments of another to work on it.

It wound up looking pretty good—she did a presentation on the American Revolution, using stuff from my reenacting group’s website. If she doesn’t win, I intend to lodge a formal protest and may even boycott the award ceremony.

Anyway, that’s about all from the exciting world of Weekend Me. As I said at the start, I’m just glad I have a chance to rest now. Until soccer practice tonight.

Thanks to everyone who continues to read the Possumblog and putting up with such meanderings. It amazes me that anyone would ever stop in, much less read any of this stuff. So, thanks.

posted by Terry at 10:20:00 AM