Chain Grease and Green Beans

Earlier this afternoon, I watched Bonehead make about 4 trips to our basement with bike stuff in his hands. I sat in my chair, holding our napping son in his preferred horizontal position, and watched. He hadn’t mentioned anything about his plans, but I know him. I know when something is brewing in his scheamy little mind, and after being married so long, I recognized the feisty tunnel-visioned determination with which things were being carted downstairs. Something was definitely up.

Sure enough, after I laid Critter down and began dinner preparations, Smoochie came upstairs and said “Mom, Dad needs you downstairs.” What on earth was going on down there? I took the bait and down I went.

I got downstairs and asked Bonehead what it was that he wanted me to do. Apparently, by the look he gave me, even he was doubtful I was actually going to follow through and help him out with his request.

“I need you to crawl under the tool bench and hold this screwdriver on the back side of this round spinny thingy here.” Yes, he used a technical term, but I have never claimed to have a photographic memory when it comes to mechanical stuff. Now, every word Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson muttered on the talk show I watched last night I can regurgitate verbatim. But Bike terms, no.

I looked at him like he just sprouted fangs and told me he “Vanted to Suck my Blooooood.” Our basement is not finished. There are scary creepy crawly things down there. There are cracks and crevices I’m afraid to LOOK in let alone place precious limbs in. So I did the only thing I could do. I looked at him and with all of the love in my heart said, “No. Huh-uh. Not gonna happen.”

At that point he gave me option #2. “You can stay right here and torque this tool thingy if you want and I will crawl under there and keep the round spinny thingy from spinning.” (Again, my interpretation of what actually came out of his mouth)

I chose to torque the tool. Which didn’t budge, of course. So after trying for a few minutes and getting looks from Bonehead which I interpreted as “Oh for crying out loud, crawl under the freeking tool bench so I can hurry up and get on with my diabolical plan already!”, I finally caved.

I crawled under the bench that had been free to gather cobwebs and all sorts of creepy crawlies since the dawn of time and held the screwdriver just where he wanted it so he could torque. I snuck a look at my hands which just mere moments ago were preparing green beans for dinner, and they were covered with chain grease. I sat on our cold concrete basement floor and looked at him square in the eye across the bike frame hung up on the hooks and told him, “The things I do for love.”

It turned out that the tool he had was the wrong one, so he and Smooch had to make a quick trip to our local bike shop for the proper one. I traipsed my way back upstairs to wash my hands and continue with the beans; only to discover that the beans I bought two days ago fresh looked pretty sketchy tonight.

So I asked him if he could stop and get me new beans on his way back home. Now, I know how geared up he gets when it comes to bikes, bike things, bike rides and bike accessories. So when he rolled his eyes and said, “I’ll stop for you”, I knew it was the same as saying “The things I do for love.”

We’ve been married for 14 years. I learned a long time ago that fairy tales and ultimate romance happen not so much. It’s all about the chain grease and green beans.