Two weeks ago, Husbandly One gave up on the snowblower we "acquired" last winter. In case you weren't here:
We needed a snowblower.
Someone High Up at work said, "Hey, give him the one the company bought ten years ago and we used ONCE."
Husbandly One and I thought, "Score!!"
Turns out the company bought it second (cough cough) hand, and the thing was at least thirty years old, probably more.
We took it to a re-furbisher, or whatever people who deal with old snowblowers are called, and he said, "I can fix this for three hundred dollars."
We paid the three hundred dollars.
Machine did not work.
We took it back, to be fair the guy did not charge us more, and then said, "Ok, NOW it works."
We brought it home.
It did not work.
Here's me, watching out the livingroom window at Husbandly One once again weilding a shovel...watching in case I have to call 911 and adminisiter CPR.
Three weeks ago, he realized that the"free" machine would never work, and
that he needed to buy something whose model year began with "20..."
(Quick aside: the snow has never been his exclusive domain, I have always gone out and shovelled when I could, in his stead, but the fact remains that I AM a small woman and shovelling isn't exactly easy for me, either. We won't discuss my strapping 24 year old step son, in the picture of health, who continues to live in the basement without contributing anything to the family dynamic. No, we won't go there...)
Anyway, so off Husbandly One went to purchase a new machine. Fifteen hundred dollars later, he was so proud of his new toy that he pulled me by the hand in to the garage, just so I could admire its fabulosity.
And then it didn't snow!
Three weeks. Nothing.
I am NOT making this up, two days ago he stood wistfully at our picture window, looking down on our bare driveway, and sighed, "I just wish it would snow...." About a half hour later, without saying a word, he walked down in to our garage, and I heard him START THE MACHINE, for no reason other than to listen to it.
Tonight he got his wish. There are ten centimetres down (four inches??Not sure) and the plow has been by twice, creating that nasty hump at the end of the driveway. He is currently out there with his new love, pushing his precious machine along in thin corridors, excavating the place where our cars live.
He is happy.
He's a MORON, but he's happy. Who am I to complain.