When Bad Things Happen to Good Grill Tools

“Honey, have you seen my grill tools?” asked my husband, as he ran in from his grilling post on the back deck.

I pointed to the cabinet over the fridge.

“No, those are my BACK-UP grill tools,” he clarified. “I’m looking for my GOOD grill tools.”

I rolled my eyes. I knew what grill tools he was looking for. They were the uber-expensive ones in their own titanium case. They came with a matching monogrammed branding iron and a lifetime guarantee against rust, dullness, and Kryptonite. They were the ones that had been missing in action for about a year.

“You keep asking me and I keep telling you I don’t know where they are,” I responded.

He mumbled something under his breath.

“WHAT?” I demanded.

“I think you put them away somewhere and forgot where,” he said a little louder.

I glared and thrust a lesser grill spatula at him. “Since I am not the one who uses the grill tools, I don’t think I’m the one who put them away somewhere and forgot where.” Although I was miffed, I had to admit, this was not a completely unjust accusation. In past cleaning frenzies, I have been known to move things from one location to another in an attempt to create more storage space than we actually have. The problem is, though, sometimes I move stuff… and then move it again… and then, maybe one more time, until eventually I can’t remember the last place I moved it to.

With any luck, the thing I moved ends up back in the first location and no one is the wiser. But sometimes, the occasional object gets relocated and for the life of me, I have no idea where it is. Although I am quick to blame it on another family member, or a ghost, or the same black hole that snatches socks from my washing machine, the sad truth is, if something is missing, I am usually the culprit.

Still, I was pretty sure that the missing grill tool case was not my doing. I had tried to move it once before and when I couldn’t find a pantry shelf or closet that would accommodate it, I gave up and left it in the kitchen. Where it went after that, though, was beyond me.

“Maybe it was stolen?” I suggested to my husband

“You think someone broke into our house, ignored the TVs and computers, and just ran off with my grill tools?”

“They are in a titanium case,” I said. “And there is that monogrammed branding iron in there. Maybe a depraved cowboy broke into our house and took the case so he could steal cattle and use the branding iron with your initials to throw the police off his trail.”

“A depraved cowboy?” He wondered. “In the suburbs?”

“Yes,” I said emphatically.

“You sticking with that story?”

“I am,” I said.

“OK. Let me know when you find my grill tools.”

Two days later, I opened a linen cabinet that I open multiple times every day, and there, right in plain sight, under a bunch of tablecloths, was the titanium grill tool case. It had been a year, so my memory was fuzzy. But somewhere in the back of my mind, I did kind of remember that I had stashed the case on that shelf. I felt terrible and immediately regretted blaming my husband for my actions. I knew that the key to a great marriage is to admit when you have made a mistake, so I picked up the phone to call my husband.

“Great news!” I exclaimed. “The cowboy returned your grill case!”

 

©2018, Beckerman. All rights reserved.

bookbutton-04“Lost in Suburbia: A Momoir. How I Got Pregnant. Lost Myself, and Got My Cool Back in the New Jersey Suburbs” makes a great gift for a cool mom you love. To get one,  CLICK HERE

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Filed under Cleanliness is Next to Impossibleness, Husbands and other Aliens

We Pause this Christmas Planning for a Commercial Interruption

’Twas a week before Christmas and our wallets were bare

There wasn’t so much as a dollar in there.

The gift cards were purchased, the stockings were stuffed

Even the eggnog tureen had been buffed.

 

The bonus was gone, the tips had been tipped

The gift to Aunt Martha had finally been shipped.

The lines at the mall were still crazy long

Price surging on ride shares was still going strong

 

The kids were safe studying in their college beds

as visions of Venmo checks danced in their heads.

Some gathered together to watch Game of Thrones

While others schemed how to get cool new IPhones.

 

But back at our house as we tried to get cozy

A loud noise suggested that all was not rosy.

Someone was walking on top of the house

And that someone was bigger for sure than a mouse.

 

A burglar? An alien? What could it be?

Something was headed straight for our chimney.

 

And then with an “oomf” and an “ugh” he came down,

Not through the chimney but down to the ground.

With big rosy cheeks and good cheer galore

Our mystery roof-walker appeared at the door.

 

“I’m the guy that you called, I’m a roofer named Kringle

All that snow that just fell?  It ruined your shingles.

“You need a new roof,” said the man dressed in red

“If you don’t do it soon it’ll fall in on your head.”

 

We looked at the tuition bills tossed on the table

The bills for electricity, water, and cable

Then we gave him a Visa to clean up the mess

Because Kringle won’t take American Express.

 

©2017, Beckerman. All rights reserved.

bookbutton-04“Lost in Suburbia: A Momoir. How I Got Pregnant. Lost Myself, and Got My Cool Back in the New Jersey Suburbs” makes a great gift for the Holidays!! To get a copy for you or a cool mom you love, CLICK HERE

To become a fan of Lost in Suburbia on Facebook, Visit me here
To follow me on Twitter, visit me here

 

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Filed under Da Holidays