Mr. Honey is like most people who are related to writers: he prefers not to be a subject of writings. But that's just crazy talk. There is a code that family members of writers are an instant source of material - just like being married to a comedian. For the most part, we leave them alone but there are times when a family member comes in handy for writing: like when we want to share sentimental stories, or when we have writer's block and need a way to unstop the drain or
when they do the following:
Get something to drink.
So, there I was on Saturday afternoon (yes, there's a reason it's in italics) sitting on the couch either knitting a hat or looking over patterns for another hat or doing something with a hat when Mr. Honey walked in. He had been outside and he was dressed in his coat and he was breathing deeply and he said: "This might be a good time to deal with the junk in your trunk."
I know he wasn't talking about the booty that's on me so he must have been talking about the car trunk.
Did you hear me?
The car trunk.
Where the hidden stash of yarn and pillow forms. Pillow forms? That's right. Pillow forms. They were on sale two for one so I got four of them. Yes, they were so hidden I didn't even tell you.
That's what he meant. He meant to tell me that for some strange reason, he was in my car trunk and he discovered what I had in the trunk and he was telling me he now knows so I can go and bring it in the house.
That's what I thought. Which ticked me off a little. What was he doing in my trunk? So I asked him, "Are you taking something out of my trunk?" No answer. "Are you putting something in my trunk?" No answer.
Leaving me to believe that's what he did - for some reason he went into my trunk and discovered my stash. Well, I continued on with the hat pattern and knitting because there was no sense in rushing out to take care of a hidden stash that was no longer hidden.
Remember, it's Saturday afternoon.
The next morning I had to leave for church a little early because there's an annual race that closes down a bunch of streets around Oak Park and you have to leave early to avoid the closed streets and get around. So, I go out to the car and I notice everything that was in my trunk is now sitting in the back seat of my car.
If everything is in the back seat of my car, then what's in my trunk? I opened the trunk and I see a tire and a wheel cover. A full sized tire.
I close the trunk and start looking at my tires. Sure enough, there's a temp tire on the back passenger side. Apparently, I had a flat and he changed the tire and put the temp on. Now, Mr. Honey was not at home. He walks to church a block away from our house.
Are you thinking what I'm thinking? Forget about the yarn stash being busted. Why didn't he tell me I had a flat instead of the junk in the trunk remark?
Because that's what Mr. Honey calls a sense of humor. I went to church because it is close to Sears where I was going to go after church to get the tire in the trunk inspected and repaired or replaced.
Which could have happened on Saturday because he changed the tire Saturday afternoon.
But wait...there's more.
After church, I go out to the car and I call home - because he needs to be yelled at (while I was in the throes of Christian love) and waiting until I came home would be too long. He answered the phone and conversation went something like this:
"Repeat these words. 'Honey, you have a flat.'
"Honey, you have a flat!" (Said with an undertone of laughter.)
"You know, if you had told me that yesterday when I asked what you were taking out or putting in to my trunk, I could have had this taken care of yesterday and would not be driving around pot hole filled streets with a temp tire."
And do you know what he said?
"I am headed over to Sears to get another tire."
"Oh no, you need two tires."
"Two tires are bad. You need two tires."
"OK. I'm going to Sears to get two tires."
"Oh no, I'm going to take the car to the gas station where I know I can get a good deal. I'm taking the car there tomorrow. I'm going to call them."
It's not quite done yet.
I travel home and sometime later I say to him. "What gas station?"
"The station that's open until midnight every night?"
"The one I could have called last night and taken the car to get the tires?"
"Oh no, I called them. They won't have the tires until tomorrow."
"When did you call them?"
This is why he's blog fodder.