tonight's episode - 'the case of the filched fire wood!'
When my Tool Man and I moved into our present house, we were most excited at the prospect of having a fireplace in our living room. We both imagined winter nights with a roaring fire crackling in our cozy abode, the heat emanating into the room a metaphor for our burning love. The first time we left the house following a visit with the former owners, we were barely out of the driveway when we turned to each other and both exclaimed, "FIREPLACE!!"
"You know what that means, don't you?" Tool Man asked.
"Hell, yes! We can make s'mores any damn time we want!" I cheered.
"Oh, well, not quite what I was thinking," Tool Man responded, wiggling his eyebrows. "I was thinking more along the lines of sex in front of the fireplace. Romance. You know. All that." (sidebar - ah, the good old days...)
"Are you sure this isn't just your way of avoiding marshmallows?" I said. "I mean, I don't like them, either, but we're talking s'mores, honey..."
Long story short, we soon took possession of the house and have enjoyed our fireplace several times when winter has whipped across the tundra. Has there been sex in front of the fireplace in that time? Yes, although, to be honest, the fireplace wasn't in use at those times (hold on a moment, let me ask Tool Man something - "Is it because I'm all the molten hot love you need?" "What? Did you say something? I'm playing a game here!")(sidebar - ah, the good old days...). Have there been delectable s'mores made in our living room? I regret to tell you the answer to that is also no, and also, did you know you could whip those delicious bad boys up in a microwave in under 20 seconds? The more you know (the bigger your ass can possibly get)...
Thanks to the miracle of blankets working in tandem with my super hot hotness (aided by delicious s'mores...mmmm...s'mores!), we really haven't used the fireplace we were so excited about in quite awhile. However, we have kept a large supply of firewood stacked out on a corner of our lot should the desire strike.
Until today, that is!
(cue the Scooby Doo theme song!)
This morning, I was standing on our deck, taking in the glory of the straw-colored grass and the tattered plastic bags being held tight in the branches of our bare trees, surveying all the eye could see, when I noticed something considerably wrong in our yard. Despite it's considerableness, it still took me a moment to realize what wasn't right. Finally, it hit me that our gigantic pile of wood was gone. Not only that, but the villain or villains had also absconded with two large wood pallets the firewood rested on, and removed a half-buried piece of rebar (which, interesting sidenote, I've been asking Tool Man to remove from around the firewood pile as well as the four trees growing in our backyard for years, only to have him tell me it was virtually impossible because the ground - or Earth, as he likes to call it - was too tough)
I immediately made like Shaggy and Scooby, my feet spiraling in one spot for several seconds before propelling myself inside to tell Tool Man and the rest of the gang we needed to hop into the Mystery Machine and head straight for the Haunted Mansion to solve this one (fingers crossed it was the work of a bunch of knuckle-heads wearing masks!).
Tool Man, in his best Freddy fashion, straightened his ascot and went next door to see if the neighbors had heard or seen anything suspicious while I, doing my best aloof Daphne (I really do not care one bit for these particular neighbors), waited in the yard for him to come back with our first clue.
Labels: mine your own business indeed