Dirty Look

Only one son wanted to accompany me to the hardware store.  This particular errand, while one of my personal favorites, is a mixed bag when it comes to the boys.  The resulting level of frustration, enjoyment and/or near death experiences (mine and theirs) is entirely dependant on the boy, the day of the week, the time and the lunar cycle.

Tonight, all was well.  Logan was happy and we took turns picking out the things that we wanted to accomplish.  He was very patient while I fiddled around and I was appreciative.

Our last stop before heading home was the nail aisle.  Being completely immersed in my task, I temporarily lost visual contact with Logan but I knew he was still in the vicinity because I could hear his running commentary as he padded up and down behind me.  Thus far, the septuagenarian couple sharing the aisle with us had failed to register a complaint so I figured we were in the clear.

I knew that my window of opportunity would be closing soon.  Indeed, it had been open far longer than I had expected, but I was desperate not to abandon this project and be forced to return in the morning.  Narrowing down a thousand choices, after all, is no mean feat.

By the skin of my teeth, I located the box of nails I was after right as the window slammed shut.  Logan came running up behind me carrying something.

"Dad, I got screwed!" he shouted, holding out some bolts the length of his arm for me to see.

Yes, I see that you have a handful of screws.  I had already seen the scandalized look in my mind's eye so I didn't bother to look up at the couple standing ten feet away, though I did hear an audible gasp from that general direction.

Please stop shouting and help me find the exit.

- 1 June 2012