Honey-Do Number Seven

Just as I had settled in for a long weekend of doing nothing, my wife came into the room and asked me what I had planned for the day. Obviously, she had not yet read this story’s opening line and I could tell right away that I was in big trouble. Firstly, it was a loaded question. Not like Russian Roulette loaded either. There is always a chance of surviving Russian Roulette.

Secondly, she said I was in big trouble.

“You’re in big trouble!” she exclaimed. “I’ve been asking you to clean out that garage for six months!”

I should point out how unnecessary her exclaiming was. She had put ‘clean out the garage’ on her honey-do list at least six months ago, I don’t know why she keeps exclaiming about it every weekend.

My wife has been putting things on that list since 1997 and it just keeps growing and growing and growing. It keeps getting longer and longer and longer, never shorter. Well, that’s not completely true. ‘Clean out the garage’ did come off the list once in late 1999 just after we had moved out of our previous home. But generally, she never ever removes tasks from the list. Plus, ‘Clean out the garage’ was re-added to the list in the early 2000’s and again six months ago.

Needless to say, I was none too happy about the disruption to my weekend non-plans. I had been looking forward to doing nothing all week and I very nearly told her as much! I had no intention whatsoever of cleaning out the garage or any other list item this weekend. For example, I planned on skipping number twenty-eight as well, wash and wax the Jeep. That sounds even worse than cleaning out a garage. Also, we sold the Jeep nine years ago.

So anyhoo a couple hours later as I was cleaning out the garage I came across a package of tulip bulbs from Keukenhof. That’s odd, I thought to myself. We hadn’t been to Keukenhof since 1998. The bag, though, triggered a vague recollection. Sure enough there it was, list item number seven: ‘Plant Tulips.’

Nothing EVER comes off that list.

After several more arduous hours I finally lowered my weary body back onto the couch. My eyelids grew heavy and before I knew it I had dozed off. Doing nothing would have to wait, I had some serious dozing to do.

Sometime later, through a sleepy haze I heard my wife’s frenchie, Gravy, trot obliviously into the room. She paused at the edge of the couch for a few moments then jumped right up onto my chest. I considered scolding her, but my eyelids were still quite heavy. Instead, I pretended to sleep hoping she would lose interest and run off to some other mischief. 

Impatient for attention, she leaned down close to my face to see if I was fake sleeping. I could tell she had leaned close because her thick, bushy beard began tickling my nose. 

Wait, what!? Thick bushy beard!?

I popped my eyes open and found myself staring into the steely blue eyes and pudgy little face of Benedict Gargelson, the garden gnome from my wife’s tulipless garden. Noticing that I was now wide awake, Gargleson silently held up the five stubby little fingers of his left hand and two chunky fingers from his right hand forming the number seven.

With a start I jumped off the couch letting out a loud but casual “GAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!” My sudden rise flung Gargelson halfway across the room. He landed on his feet, scampered down the stairs and right out the front door. 

No sooner did he swing the door shut behind him than my wife ran into the room asking what I was gaaahhhing about. 

“What, who, me? Oh, that. I was just, uh, stretching and yawning after a busy day of toiling on your list, dear.” I replied.

She eyed me up and down with suspicion but apparently bought my story. She walked back out of the room muttering something about having me committed, which I thought was completely unnecessary. Hadn’t I committed to her quite some time ago when we got married?

The next morning, I was waiting in the car while my wife got ready for our trek into town for ‘list supplies’ (as she put it ominously). I noticed Gargleson in the tulipless garden eyeing me.

No way, I thought. That had just been a bad dream, I told myself. Unconvinced I rubbed the doing nothingness from my eyes to be sure. When I looked back, he was holding up seven Vienna sausage fingers. I jumped a little in my seat to show that fat little statue who was the boss around here. In an act of submission Gargleson grabbed the pair of hedge trimming shears my wife had left out for me last summer (number sixty-two) and made snipping motions with it.

“And have those hedges trimmed by the time I get back!” I ordered quietly just as my wife jumped into the passenger seat. “What was that?” she asked.

“Oh, I was just thinking some tulips would look really good in front of that ugly old gnome statue, Sweet Pea.”

Author: Ken Gack

Ken did eventually plant the tulips, however list number 92, ‘Weed the tulip garden’, being not yet accomplished, makes them a bit hard to appreciate.