cuz he said so

It's been said that women have a sixth sense.  There're times when I know better.  When my better judgment says, "Uh-uh sister, that ain' gone work."  There're times when I follow that voice, and then there're those when I don't.  I reel it in, tuck the covers up close around its neck and put it to bed, trying not to think twice about it.

Le'me take a step back.  Yesterday, while waiting for Handsome Husband to arrive home from work, the Littles and I played two-square. 

Yeah, that game.  The one with a big bouncy playground ball and a server. 

The man patiently awaited his turn.  He sat calmly on the ground beside us playing with sticks and rocks and things.  All of a sudden we heard the crash of breaking glass.  I look over and see that one of the basement windows is bashed.  I look back at him and he has this face.  The face that says, "What just happened here?!"  He didn't even know what he'd done!

 

Needless to say, I'm all "What in the world?!  What're ya doin' kid?!"  I quickly got over myself, we've all broken a window or two.  It's a piece of glass, it can be fixed.  An easy fix.

 

So, the night proceeds on as usual.  Dinner.  A game of h.o.r.s.e, throw the baseball a while.  Finally, baths are taken, teeth brushed, prayers are said, and hugs and kisses goodnight.  I tell Handsome Husband we must do somethin' with that window.  Only problem was, I'm not a fan of basements.  If it's a finished, well-lit, cozy kinda basement, well that's fine and dandy.  If it's not, count me out!  (Ours is the latter.)  Needless to say, I wasn't jumping on the bandwagon to head-up that project, simple as it was.

 

"There'll be varmints and critters comin' through that hole." I say.  "No," he replies, "Mice only come in in the winter.  It'll be fine."  Fine until somebody rolls over and locks eyes with a rabid coon,  his mouth drawn back, teeth glarin' and a nasty growl coming from the depths of his angry belly.  I could just see us wakin' up to an animal apocalypse...snakes, crickets, mice, coons, feral cats, you name it.  But sweeping my sixth sense along with any fear under the rug and crawling safely into bed, I feared not.

 

Well, it's clinically proven that men don't know everything.  It's common knowledge that they'll never - not ever - stop for directions unless we, as women, agree to get out at the gas station and ask ourselves.  And then, they still don't want to be seen doing this.  They'd never be shamed into stoopin' that low.  Yes, men have their flaws.

 

So, we never cover, stuffed or patched that huge hole in the basement window.  Cuz he said so.  Long about 2:30 this afternoon, I realize there are two big, black, buzzin' flies in my bedroom.  You know the kind, they're huge, they bzzzzzzzzz way more than any normal fly.  They're all hyped up on pollen and trained kamikazes.  Yep, those kind.

 

I venture out of the bedroom because the suicide attacks and constant buzzing's really startin' to get to me.  I'm beginnin' to lose it.  Low and behold, I hear more.  I proceed investigating the various rooms of the old farmhouse and I find they're in every room, every stinkin' room!  There're no doors, nor windows open, just that silly hole in the basement window.

 

So, the moral of this story is...don't always trust the words behind those suggestive, strong lips of Handsome Husband.  God gave you a sixth sense, use it!  Even if you don't want to venture into the dark, cold, scary basement.