Ben doesn't usually buy things for himself. When he needs food, I buy it. Ditto with clothes and most other stuff. Even cars. He's giving away my van this week, and I've been instructed to find a new car.
The extent of Ben's shopping is deciding what to get at Starbucks, which doesn't even count because he always gets a Pike's Place redeye, and what's the fun in that?
But a few weeks ago he started looking at tools, and that can be dangerous. I've threatened to take away his credit card before he walks into Lowe's. But these are not those kind of tools.
These are the kind of tools you have to order over the Internet. And hire an electrician to re-wire your garage for. And have delivered by tractor-trailer, and I'm not even kidding.
Today was delivery day. Ben knew they were coming, so he took the day off to be here and oversee the grand arrival. Thankfully, I was firmly entrenched in winning my first-ever racquetball game at the gym, so I missed most of the festivities.
When I pulled into our subdivision and came over the hill just up the street from our house, the first thing I noticed was the tractor-trailer sitting smack-dab in the middle of the cul-de-sac with its back end wide open. Second, I looked up my driveway and saw the van with the trailer attached, and three men (Ben, Man-boy, and the driver) trying to get a 700-pound wooden box off the trailer into the garage. The third thing I saw was this:
That would be what's left of my mailbox. I'm not asking how it happened but the driver held his hands up and shook his head, signifying "not me," indicating the guilty party lives in this house.
By the time I parked the car and got to the garage, they had the big box unloaded:
and a mere six hours later, here are the tools of the day:
I have no idea what they are or what they do, but I'm told it's part of decorating the man-cave.
Be thankful ~