Upper-and-lowercase-abc-blocks-9102-p     This post was prompted by the "Red
    Writing Hood"
. The assignment was to
    write a 26 sentence piece in which
    each sentence starts with the letters
    of the alphabet IN ORDER. I love a
    good puzzle so I thought I'd give it a
    try. I had no idea I'd end up in the

    At 6pm, on weeknights, my husband
    gets home from work. Besides relaxing
    on the couch after the baby goes to bed, he usually cooks me dinner. Cooking is something he enjoys so although he pretends he is helping out for the good of the family, I know better. Diapering the baby and putting her to sleep are tasks for which I would give far more points. Eventually though, everything gets done and I am more or less happy with his contributions.

Forget the fact that he has yet to childproof the kitchen cabinets. God knows I have asked him to do it a billion times. How a person can let their child run around the house with the ability to catch their fingers in the cabinets at any moment is beyond me.

I know you are thinking that I could do it myself but there is actually something complicated about our cabinets that makes the whole process require a drill. Just so we're clear— using a drill is totally outside of my wheelhouse. Knowing that there is even a drill in the house makes me a little on edge. Like having a loaded gun in a drawer.

My fear is that one day, I will think— I can use a drill, no problem! Never having handled a drill in my life, of course. Over to the toolbox I'll stroll with newfound confidence. Pouring the drill bits on the kitchen counter and piecing the thing together with ease. "Quite the handywoman!" I'll think to myself as I fire that bad boy up.

Right before I drill a hole in my arm.

Screaming, I'll run around the house looking for a way to stop the bleeding. The last thing I'll think before I pass out will be— if only my husband had done this when I had asked. Under the couch, my mangled arm will flop. Vacant eyes staring at the ceiling until my husband finds me there practically unconscious.

"Why did you touch the drill?" he will ask repeatedly. X-rays of my entire arm will be required, he's sure. "You never childproofed the cabinets so I had to take matters into my own hands," I will respond grimly.

Zeroing in on my pale bloody arm, my husband will sigh and say, "I'll do it tomorrow."