Excellent Developments

To combat the rapidly increasing revulsion I inspire in men, I have taken up engineering. My father and I fixed our printer. My father has the printer jammed into a desk unit roughly the size and complexity of Byzantium, but the printer spot gives one half an inch leeway all around. This was coupled with one millimeter's slack in the power cords connecting to the outlet and the computer. Not surprisingly, the printer came unplugged. My father hauled it out and held it while I plugged one cord back in. Alas, the tugging free caused the other to detach. Manhandling a three foot Maglite as my nephew crowed and called us s*&theads from the chair, my father bellowed that I must go beneath the desk unit and find "the f%*king only dangling plug." It would not dangle given the fact that dust buffalo and cords take up all the space behind the desk unit. "Tug gently on the cords," my father said. "But if you encounter any f*&ing resistance, STOP TUGGING."

I found the cord. What next? Why, my father wants to DANGLE A STRING down the back of the desk, which I am to tie to the errant cord. He will then somehow get the plug back up and replug it without detaching the other cord. Which means not moving the printer again. Which means we would need to hire a Lilliputian.

"Dad," said I. "What about using an EXTENSION cord. Then we can pull the printer out, attach both cords to its back then attach THEM to the extension cord, which will give us a blissful foot or so of give to reach the power outlet." My father stood stockstill at my genius. My nephew guffawed and insulted us both again. My father cursed at him and called him a dog. "You're the one down on all fours," my nephew pointed out. This was true, as he was searching for an extension cord (among other wrong finds was a telephone cord) and gave my father pause. No extension cord.

"You stay in that meditative position," my father said to us. I was seated like a broken Buddha, half beneath the desk. My nephew reclined in the massage chair. We waited. He returned. This time with an extension cord. My father pulled the printer out. My nephew hit him with a cane. Then ran. "You f&*ing dog as&^ole!!" he said. Among other things. By this time, I had plugged the cords in and strung them through the minute hole in the back of the desk and was curled in a 270 degree knot (no, that doesn't make sense but neither did my pose) twisted around to the outlet. My mother appeared, took this all in stride, and asked my father if he had called my nephew those things. We confirmed the facts, but added the caning. My mother left. Plug-in achieved. Nephew back in chair. Both father and nephew cursing each other openly.

The long-awaited document, 14 things to do with coffee filters (one includes eyebrows), appeared. My nephew guffawed and fell off the chair onto his knees.

"VICTORY!" I crowed.

I wish Brian would drop dead, my nephew said from the other room.

"Do you want a time out," my mother asked?

"That was a rhetorical comment."