Tuesday, April 21, 2009

The Reveal†

As you may remember, a crucial dinner with Dad was cancelled two weeks ago because of the NCAA final. With that postponement, we were left on the edge of our seats as to the questions, "Etcetera... what?", "What kind of trowels exactly?" and "Does Dad have a name for the chicken footed gardening implement?"

Our mutual educations hang in the balance.

[SUMMARY: Antici... ]

The answer to the first two questions can be seen here:

OK, one question, really. I don't know about you, but I can't identify the etcetera in this drawer. I see a pile of trowels and what could be a hot water bottle.§

[SUMMARY: ...pa... ]

But I think we can definitively state that there are no garden trowels in the Trowels, etc., drawer at all, hence, no chicken footed gardening implement.


I did flat out ask Dad about the chicken footed gardening implement, and he got that slightly bemused Dad look on his face and said, "Well... I don't know that there is one... it's certainly a garden [insert international sign language for chicken foot garden implement here]... a cultivator of some kind."

[SUMMARY: ...tion]

I win!

Dad did not have a ready, conclusive name for the chicken footed gardening implement. Brother owes me lunch.#

Funny epilogue: We were in Peach's vast foyer†† explaining the trip to the basement.

"I bet Brother Dad would say, 'Well, I don't know...' and make something up for the chicken foot thing and he said Dad would *know* the name so I won. And we were curious if there were gardening trowels in the drawer, but there aren't. Just masonry trowels."

"There are garden trowels?" asked Peach

"Sure," said Dad.

"They look like a miniature shovel," said I.‡‡

"Ahhhh. And is there a name for the..." she hung out there, apparently not sure about the "chicken foot" construct.

"Well, yeah," said Dad, with a distinct hand signal. "Sort of. It's a cultivator."

"A cultivator," said Peach.

"Yeah, but you have to make the sign when you say it," said Dad, demonstrating international sign language for chicken footed gardening implement for her edification.

In case y'all ever wondered how I might have come by my sense of humour.

[SUMMARY: Your wait is over.§§]


That's how I came by it.

Dad, by the way, is fishing this week,¶¶ so we skip yet another father/daughter dinner.

The gelato level in my blood is getting low and I'm getting mean.

FOOTNOTE (crossed): I'm pretty sure "reveal" wasn't a noun before reality TiVi. There's also a chance "reality" wasn't an adjective before reality TiVi.

FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): For those of you who follow college basketball, I think we can all agree dinner with me would have been WAY more entertaining than that game. We played the odds and we lost on that one.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Could be another trowel. Could be a secret door to the land of Narnia. I can't figure out what it is.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): In my best Steven A. Smith voice.

FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): The familiar and exact look I told Brother he would get on his face.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Any side bets on whether Brother tries to welsh by saying he won because Dad *eventually* came up with a name?

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): You could fit my master bedroom in that foyer.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): ...deftly mixing my singulars with my plurals.

§§FOOTNOTE (tied 'em up in knots): We've just tied up so many loose ends here today, haven't we?

¶¶FOOTNOTE (I really put my foot in it this time): Miss dinner for basketball... miss dinner for fishing. One more abandonment issue and we're going to need to find a daughterly version of "Cats in the Cradle."

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