I’ve reclaimed my balls. Reclaimed my balls and upped my C.I. by one. You know, cylinder index, the number of pistons in the internal combustion engines one owns. It’s directly proportional to ones machismo rating. This puts me at 16. Admittedly some guys hit 16 with just a their car and their pickup, but it took me three cars, a lawn mower and now a snowblower to hit that level. But it’s a new high for me.
The reason I say I’ve reclaimed my balls is because I bought the blower against my wife’s wishes. She did not see that this was a great investment. One of MM’s nieghbors is moving to California, where he won’t be needing a snowblower (at least until the state breaks away and drifts down to the Antarctic) and he had this beauty for sale. Seven horse, 24 inches of snow spitting power! He bought it last year and only used it twice, there isn’t even any paint worn off the auger blades! He was letting it go for five hundred bucks, just a little more than half price. It’s pristine.
I’ve been thinking about buying one soon. I think I’ve developed an alergy to shovels. Everytime I get near one I start to sweat, get short of breath and suffer from back, knee and shoulder pain. I used to look at shoveling as a good workout and kind of scoff at guys that needed to use machines to move their snow. But let’s face it, guys my age have heart attacks shoveling snow and real men have motorized toys.
When I conferred with Becky about the purchase she wasn’t too excited about the deal. I think most guys would just buy the thing without consulting their wives, but the truth of the matter is that at our house there’s little doubt about who’s in charge. So I decided to pass up the deal. Last weekend we got a moderate snowfall and on the way home from the basketball game Sunday, I indicated that I wanted Beck to help me shovel. She blew me off, so I was out there on our steeply inclined driveway with my knee aching and swearing under my breath when she and Q came out to get in Q’s car and go shopping. I had to finish digging out behind Q’s car, (good luck getting her to help) which meant I had to dig through the berm that the snowplow leaves when it goes by on the street. Which is the hardest shoveling there is. They stood and watched. That was the last straw. When they got back I looked my wife in the eye and said, “I’m buying the snowblower and you better not say a word.”
That felt great. Maybe I’ll just go out and buy a boat.
Dude, if, god forbid, the snowblower cacks out on you or something, I’ve got a 7.5-year-old boy who lives, LIVES, I tell you, to shovel snow. For the mere matter of room and board, he could be yours every winter.
No need to thank me.
Jeez, should I have cylinder envy?
As far back as I can remember I’ve maintained that I love to shovel snow. This year I bought a snowblower and I learned something. Shoveling snow sucks. Besides, at my age, if I’m gonna have a heart attack I’m gonna save it for sex.
Remember that Tim Allen show, Home Improvement? And remember that manly grunting noise that he made when he was doing manly things? Imagine me making that noise right now, for you. Cause I can’t figure out how to spell it.
Big balls, you.
a few years ago the husband said to me: i want a generator. i rolled my eyes. he showed me pictures in a catalog. he really wanted the biggest, loudest one, of course, but he reasonably understood that was asking for the moon, so he went for the second biggest and loudest. i continued to roll my eyes. a few weeks later, a generator came to live here. “we talked about it!” he said. he talked. i did eye rolls. on those four times he’s used it for something useful (taking it to the woods is not considered useful), he reminds me of what a good purchase it was.
i’ve learned to live with the generator and its handmade cart and the space it hogs in the garage. the biggest argument is caused by the free toy — that damned leaf blower, possibly the most obnoxious invention of all time. now he’s making some goo-goo eyes at snow blowers — to prepare for the days when we no longer have a teenage boy in the house. but it is only goo-goo eyes. he knows as long as the leaf blower lives here, a snow blower would have to come with divorce papers.
you rebel, you.
heh.
sam’s always pressing me for somethng. a new carbon stem for the bike. new wheels. new webcamera. new tv.
the last battle he won was tivo.
the most recent battle is digital SLR.
i actually think it’s kind of fun. 🙂
I never doubted your balls, tough guy.
That’s one sexy snowblower. Sixteen is a good number, but you can always take it up a notch and buy the boat, too…
-matt
Horray for SNOW BLOWERS!
Dad has a blower for the leaves (it’s a large garden), kinda like a shoulder-slung hoover. ~x~