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Four Pillows and Keypads

April 14, 2019

My construction life could possibly take a turn (hopefully, for the best.)  I will be giving up a bunch of cool stuff, but I could be working closer to home.  I will need to give up raccoon sausage, two (+) hour commutes, four nights a week in a hotel, and four pillows on my bed.

 

Elaine and I have learned several things with me spending four nights a week in a hotel.  The first thing I learned is I like having four pillows on my bed and I don’t like to share them, none of them.

 

A couple weeks ago, Elaine and I decided she should come to work with me and we would spend some time trying new restaurants and just getting away.

After trying a Mexican restaurant, Elaine and I went back to the hotel.  I was shocked when I noticed Elaine had crawled into the bed. 

 

Me:  What are you doing?
Elaine:  Going to sleep.
Me:  My pillows, you have two of my pillows!
Elaine:  There are four pillows on this bed.  You are not going to share these pillows?
Me:  I hadn’t planned on it.  I have one pillow for my head.  I hold one pillow in each arm and one pillow in case I drop one.  That’s how I do things here.
Elaine:  You are an (construction language)!  You can have one of MY pillows.
Me:  Ok, but we need to talk about why you keep moving my stuff.
Elaine:  You throw everything on the floor.  Your clothes do not belong on the floor.
Me:  You have no idea how this motel thing works.  I drop things on the floor so I can find them easily.
Elaine:  Pick your stuff up!

 

I’ve noticed a couple things when I get home also.  Elaine will take the blankets.  She might have always taken blankets, but now she opens the window.  No blankets, open window!  Ol’ Monner gets pretty cold.

 

I wasn’t going to tell this next story until the statute of limitations ran its course.  Oh well, here goes.

 

My mother died in ‘87 and my father married again.  My dad and his wife lived in the same house my mom had lived in.  After several years, my dad and his wife moved to new home.  They purchased a duplex, townhome kind of thing.  It was the kind of house that looked like every other house on the street. 

 

My dad lived in this duplex until he died in ’06.  I was never in the house.  Before we jump to conclusions, I could see my dad at his office every day, so I visited him there.  I didn't see a reason to go to the house.

When my dad passed he left his duplex to his kids, with the stipulation his wife live in the house until she passes.  Again, I have never been in the house.

 

Last month, my dad’s wife informed me she was moving out of the house.  She had decided it was time to move into a facility with people her age.  We discussed it was time to sell the house, the one I have never been in.

 

One of my brothers asked me to meet a painter at dad’s house to prepare the house for sale.  I agreed to do that.

 

I was given the code to open the garage door.  The painter and I tried the code.  The garage door did not open.  After several unsuccessful tries I went to my truck for tools.  Spending forty years in construction will teach you creative ways to bypass locks.  I began taking the keypad apart.  The keypad appeared functional, I decided to try the back door. 

 

Walking around the duplex, I noticed a basement window.  My dad’s duplex doesn’t have a basement.  Yep, ‘Ol Monner is breaking into the wrong duplex! (This is the statute of limitations part.) I told you I have never been there!  I put this house back to original condition and left.

 

Turns out, I was not only at the wrong duplex, I was at the wrong building.  When I arrived at the right building the code for the keypad worked.

 

PS  If I accept the new position, I get to help Ivy sell yarn!

 

Our crazy lives!

 

Monner

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