Tool Time

Let me preface this next entry with statement of fact. I am not, have never been, and never will be what is considered a "Man's Man". I don't hunt. I don't fish. I don't shoot things, drive a pick-up truck, wear boots, spit tobacco, or have a belt buckle with my name on it. I don't say these things as an insult to anyone. But, I know who I am, and I am completely and perfectly at peace with it. Now, I mention this only because one of the prerequisites for being included in the fraternity of "Men's Men" is that you have to like (or pretend to like) building or assembling things. I hate building or assembling things....mainly for two reasons...I have no patience, and nothing, I mean nothing, ever goes together like it says. Which brings me to my point...the Changing Table from Hades.


First, who decided that there needed to be a table/dresser built for the sole purpose of changing a diaper on a baby? There are many things in life that people have that aren't necessary...televisions, a land line, an appendix, an opinion...and so on, but I think that this may just be the most useless idea ever introduced to mankind. And, while we are on the subject, the majority of the items sold for "babies" needs to be questioned. Basically, it comes down to this question, "Do we seriously need Babies R Us?" I know, I know...where would we register...

Anywho, back to the Changing Table from Hades. After being purchased (unbeknownst to me, though it wouldn't matter either way), it sat in the soon to be nursery for weeks collecting dust (much like it will most certainly do for the next 3-5 years). I knew it was there... my lovely wife knew that I knew it was there...but there it sat. (It should be noted that she tried to put it together but became stalled because the company doesn't believe in using actual words to help people assemble their useless product...only somewhat recognizable pictures and arrows that reference random pages throughout their picture book.) Eventually, it needed to be assembled, and being fans of games, my wife and I played out the fateful roles of dutiful wife and oblivious husband.

Fast forward a number of weeks to a peaceful Sunday afternoon of me taking in a baseball game from comfy confines of our overstuffed couch.  A consistent flash continually darted back and forth through the room. I tried to ignore it and continue with the baseball game, but eventually, curiosity got the best of me. I ambled toward the back of the house only to be welcomed by the complete contents of every closet between the family room and the back room covering the entire floor. It was if the closets had simultaneously thrown-up all over the hallway. The buzzing flash, which happened to be my wife, had evidently taken it upon herself to restore order to our house (I didn't know that we were out of order, but that shouldn't surprise anyone). Guilt ridden, I tried to return to the couch to watch for the conclusion of the game....I didn't make it.

It was high time the Changing Table from Hades and I had our showdown. To make this long story...less long, presently, the drawers won't close on our lopsided changing table, and my wife and I didn't speak for an hour. The point you ask of this overwritten drivel, is that expectant families do not need all of this stuff...baby baths (we called them sinks as a kid), burping rags (old socks?), changing tables (here's an idea, how's the floor?), so on and so on... I believe it is time to collectively rise up and tell these experts that force-feed us with fear that WE DON'T NEED ALL OF YOUR JUNK! Wait,......yes hon? OK. Gotta go. Evidently, we need more onesies!?!?  What the heck is a onesie and why would we need more than one?