Anyway, Holly's husband George had to leave town for a couple weeks which has left Holly to finish cleaning and painting the shop (it's an old time photo shop and I'll be posting about it soon), and the kids and I
There was a desk in the place that they wanted removed - this bitch was huge. It was as tall as I am and very long and heavy (as I am), and we couldn't dismantle it 'cause there weren't any god damn screws or anything visible that was holding it together.
So here we were, two daisies, thinking we could move the giant desk out of the building and into my truck. By ourselves. Yeahhhhhhhh. We scooted it to the doorway and couldn't lift it even an inch off the ground, so we sat and brainstormed.
Fuck. She didn't say that, as she's a good girl and doesn't curse like a sailor like I do. And since I don't want to defile her ears with that bomb, I said FUCK to myself. A few times.
We came up with the most perfect plan. A girl plan. The idea was to walk down to the hardware store and, using our girlish charm, manipulate some beefcake into giving us a hand. PERFECT. Shit like that works every time!
Into the hardware store we went, and as luck would have it, the beefcake who was there to be manipulated was a tiny, ancient, skinny, frail, twig of a man. Our beefcake was a piece of cooked bacon. The words ABORT MISSION were whispered somewhere in our fit of giggles, and we went back to the shop empty handed. But still giggling.
I called up a friend who lent us her two dollies, so the three of us, with a dolly at each end, were able to roll the giant-ass desk out onto the sidewalk. Holly took her dolly to the back of the desk so we could try to turn it, and as she hoisted, the whole backside shifted up.
A light appeared and shone down on us, a chorus of angels sang, and God's own personal finger pointed to the fact that the giant-ass desk was put together using hooky, notchy shit. As we were attempting to take the giant-ass heavy pieces apart from one another, an older couple who were walking by asked if they could help. I noticed his Australian accent and immediately said YES!
I didn't care whether he helped or not, I just wanted to hear him talk.
Anyhoo, as he gave us instructions in his sexy old-man Aussie accent, his wife let us know he was a woodworker and knew exactly what to do. FUCK. YEAH. So we did get our beefcake after all, and our beefcake came with an accent.
So it just goes to show that when you ask the universe for something, such as a manly man to help, don't lose hope when all you get at first is a side of bacon.