There are many, many qualities that I love and admire in Rocco (he makes me my green tea with honey every morning, he watches “So You Think You Can Dance” with me, he always carries the heaviest bags). All but one of these qualities fade into the background for me. Today I am in awe of his handiness.
Despite our joint descent into sick-itude, neither of us was able to just sleep on the couch all day. Granted, it could have been because the couch only sleeps one at a time, but I think we both just suck at being idle.
We both unofficially gravitated to the office to look at the mess that was the closet project. Then we just dove in. To be fair, neither of us was moving at lightening speed, but slowly and surely we conquered piece after piece.
Rocco “The Toolman” Taylor had a gadget to fix any hurdle that crossed our path. (Though I’m not entirely sure channel locks are intended to be used that way.) There was even an attachment for the drill so I could mix the five-year-old gallon of paint we had in the back!
Things went fairly smoothly until it came to installing the hanging rods. Both of us thought that would surely be the easiest part, but alas. I suspect the dudes working at Easy Closets shipping dock get their rocks off by sending hanging rods that are a quarter inch too long to their unsuspecting, swine-flu-impaired, do-it-yourself-er clientele.
I was beside myself with frustration. We were so frickin’ close! Would nothing go smoothly ever? I was ready for the clouds to blow in on a stormy field as I laid crumpled in a heap while shaking my fist at the heavens. I was plotting on ways to get the prescription bottle of blood thinners I’d just found into the food of the perpetrators of this cruel trick.
As I ran around looking for the receipt and phone number to request the correct length pipe, Rocco quietly moved about the room. He laid the pipe on the step stool, then left the room briefly. He came back pulling one end of an orange extension cord. As I scrambled for the phone, I was startled by a terrifyingly loud metallic screeching. After I recovered from the blinding pain Lucy had inflicted upon my legs at hearing the sound, I realized he was sawing off a quarter inch from the pipes. Just like that. Easy as pie. How fucking cool is he?
Even more important, how fucking cool is my new closet? Big ups to the RocStar. And he did it all while battling the pork plague. I knew I kept him around for a reason. Now let’s see if I can get him to work on the bedroom closet today…I hear hammering! Better go help!
