A few days ago I decided to throw away our old, dodgy, rusty clothes horse. It’s easier said than done: the thing is made of heavy duty metal rods so although it’s very light there was no way it was going to fit into a bin. What to do, what to do?
If only there was some kind of device that could cut it into bits. . .
And so it was that CJ and I dropped by CJ’s parents’ place (genuinely without warning, on our way home from swimming) and asked if we could possibly borrow a cup of bolt cutter. Neither of us doubted for a moment that (a) My father in law would own a bolt cutter, and (b) He would know exactly where it was.
As we drove home and I found myself holding what amounts to a limb-length, awesome pair of I-might-just-turn-on-you-and-kill-you scissors, I said to CJ, “Bolt cutters huh? I’m sure they have other uses, but what they’re truly designed for is cutting bolts – chain-link fences and padlocks. When I look at these and ponder their possible versatility, the only image in my head is your dad breaking into some kind of secret government installation.”
“Oh, these are just his MEDIUM bolt cutters.”
“. . . Go on.”
“Well, he has small ones.”
“Like a handbag version? Well, naturally.”
“And then there’s the OTHER end of the scale. . .”
“Your dad has an enormous pair of bolt cutters? Much, much bigger than these?”
I spent the rest of the drive in happy imagination of what a man with my father-in-law’s talents might do with his enormous pair of bolt cutters. Break into REALLY BIG secret government installations, presumably.
Then we were home – showering, cooking dinner, doing washing, etc etc – it was all a bit frantic so I threw the ye olde clothes horse down the stairs (shedding ancient pieces of rusted white rubberised paint every which way), grabbed the rest of the rubbish to take downstairs and then to the curb, and hoped dinner didn’t burn while I hastily chopped up the clothes horse to send it away forever (and good riddance, too). Oh! And I was in my pyjamas. (CJ had his hands full dealing with Louisette’s arsenic hour while also showering himself, her, and helping with dinner.)
I don’t mind telling you, it was AWESOME. My father-in-law keeps his tools in great condition* and it was like cutting through butter with massive scissors. The metal rods fell to bits in seconds, I chucked them in the bin, and the bolt cutters worked exactly like a superpower. I’ve never felt so manly.
Thanks again, CJ’s Dad.
*presumably in case of a last-minute international and/or extraterrestrial issue that needs a size twelve spanner with defibrillation arm and optional rotating flibotnium.