I was already running late this morning when I peeled the little piece of foil off the top of my new deodorant and started twisting the dial that pushes the gel up to the top.
And twisting.
And twisting.
Nothing comes out. I start spinning the dial furiously, staring at the three little dispenser holes, but nothing happens. I moan in disgust.
Sal - who, I'd like to point out, was TWO ENTIRE ROOMS AWAY - hears this and asks what's wrong. I tell him my new deodorant is broken. "Give me that," he says.
Thirty minutes, a hand towel, a screwdriver and probably several swear words later, he has performed this crazy husband magic and transplanted all of the gel INTO THE OLD EMPTY CONTAINER.
And if you think this was the moment I realized again how deeply I adore this man, you'd be wrong. That didn't happen until he looked at me worriedly and said, "My hands smell like women's armpits."
And twisting.
And twisting.
Nothing comes out. I start spinning the dial furiously, staring at the three little dispenser holes, but nothing happens. I moan in disgust.
Sal - who, I'd like to point out, was TWO ENTIRE ROOMS AWAY - hears this and asks what's wrong. I tell him my new deodorant is broken. "Give me that," he says.
Thirty minutes, a hand towel, a screwdriver and probably several swear words later, he has performed this crazy husband magic and transplanted all of the gel INTO THE OLD EMPTY CONTAINER.
And if you think this was the moment I realized again how deeply I adore this man, you'd be wrong. That didn't happen until he looked at me worriedly and said, "My hands smell like women's armpits."
2 comments:
Amy: Thanks for introducing me to your blog, which I've now had to catch up on, thus leaving me totally unproductive for the last half-hour at work. But at least I've been laughing.
PS: If you're "unproductive" for a while, but then return to a normal work state, are you then "reproductive" ?
You married a MacGuyver-Man, just like Chris. Congratulations!
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