For her birthday, Dewie requested a steak on the grill. That request in easy enough, but when I went to look at the grill it had a nest of black widows in it and the grates were rusted clean through in several spots. I knew that grill has just about had it, which is why we haven’t used it all summer. Besides, I’m kind of sick of the gas grill; I want a good old fashioned charcoal grill. The food tastes better and I think I’m ready for the additional challenge of heat regulation. Hank Hill would be very disappointed, but I think he’s wrong. I want to taste a little bit of the heat, that’s kind of the whole point. Otherwise I’ll just pan fry it. So we run out to Walmart and pick up a cheap, no frills, plain ole charcoal grill. It’s the end of the season so the price has been significantly reduced which makes me happy. It’s in a flat box which makes me unhappy. I hate putting stuff together.
We get it home and start unpacking it. Ok, so this isn’t so complicated, but why do the directions tell you to assemble it from the top down? That just doesn’t make sense. As usual, I believe I know better than the manufacturer and begin assembling it from the ground up. That’s right, folks. I do read the directions, then quickly disregard them because I think I’m always right. It’s a character flaw, I know, but I digress. As a result of not reading the directions, I find myself in the precarious position of trying to hold all four legs in an upright position (for the record, I still only have two hands) while trying to balance the drum on the cuppy things and attach them to the legs. Out of necessity, I borrow Dewie’s two tiny hands.
As she’s juggling two of the legs and cuppy things she innocently asks, “Is this how they tell you to put it together? It seems like it would be easier to attach each leg to the bottom of the grill.” Well, yeah I get that now.
“I know, right? These directions are stupid. You don’t need to look at them, let’s just throw them out.”
“You didn’t follow them again, huh?”
“No.”
Ok, we have to make this work or I have to completely disassemble the stand of the grill and start over. We tip the grill upside down and balance the legs on the drum itself. Better. With one hand full of grill legs and the other desperately trying to twist on a wing nut, I start to feel it. There is a severe itching in my general ankle area. I rub it with my other foot. It intensifies. I rub it again. Then I hear it.
“Is there a !#$%ing mosquito in here?!?!”
“Yeah I think it came in when we were bringing in the grill.”
I try slapping at it with my foot while twisting the wing nut. It flies away from my ankle only to land on my neck.
“It’s on your neck.”
“Yeah I got that. Will you hold that still so I can move my hand.”
“Hold it still with what? My third arm?”
Meanwhile the mosquito is sucking away like a deranged vampire. I twist that wing nut as fast as I can, but I have three more to go. I’ve gotten myself in a position where I actually have to spit the wing nuts into the grill drum because I can’t let go of anything. It’s really hard to cuss out your frustrations with a mouth full of wing nuts. Two left Twist, twist, twist. Suck, suck, suck. Finally the legs are loosely attached. I drop everything and hop around the room simultaneously scratching and slapping myself. Dewie pipes up, “Did you get it?”
“No.”
The grill is assembled and the steaks are cooked. A feast is had by all. We drag our full, happy selves into the living room to watch some tv, and I hear it. ZZZzzzzzzzzzt! Son of a…. I already have welts the size of a quarter covering most of my exposed skin and the bastard is back for more. How much can one tiny but evil mosquito eat? Even though I’m not really cold, I cover myself with a blanket. I get an itch on my elbow. I absent mindedly scratch it. I look down and realize that it’s a new one. I leap up and wave the blanket around like a flag in a thunderstorm. Dewie just looks confused. I try to explain by yelling, “It’s in the blanket! It’s in the blanket!”
“Are you going to finish soon, or am I going to be forced to watch this around you?” Huh. No sympathy there. I could be dying from Malaria right now. Because I apparently have the sweet meat that mosquitos love and Dewie doesn’t get bitten nearly as often, it’s almost as if she thinks I’m doing it on purpose. I sit back down and tuck the blanket around me like a barrier. I can’t concentrate on the television because I’m watching and listening for that damn mosquito. I just sit there, watching and spontaneously clapping and swearing like I have Tourette’s. It’s just a price you have to pay for having a girlfriend with the sweet meat.
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| That little green thing in the martini glass is not an olive, it's a tiny chunk of my dignity. |
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