I guess the fortune teller was right
I can't exactly say my parents were thrilled when I got home.
"Look at that! You're a mess! That's got to come out with something." It doesn't, we've tried.
I must say I'm quite proud of my new white pants. And white shirt. I could even tell you where each stripe and handprint was from. This one here? Yeah, that was Marzipan. This one, no that was me. I think that one was Dominic, yeah that's right. And this one back here is Gina's fault.
What did I do to help out? Well, a wild goose chase for hinges makes me never want to see one again. Those damned things come in so many sizes, and never the one we were looking for. I got my pants dirty by what I think they call "dutching". Now that was fun. And I blame you, Gina, for getting interrogated by my mom as to who put paint on the back of my jeans.
And then there was the bricking. And, be proud, I learned how to use power tools. Don't tell me you thought I was too girly-girly to use a drill. Or a powersaw. Marzipan giggled after cutting the one by four. I felt really handy with all that power in my hands.
It didn't go quite as planned. The man with his feet up on the desk told us how we were doing it wrong, as Gina and I tried to contort ourselves to screw in the wood high in the air. And yes, it does sound wrong. It's amazing how many sexual jokes can come from wood working. Wood. Screws. Cracks. Stripping. That's right, stripping. And yes we mostly used them all.
What's the fear of heights called? Something-phobia. Well I might as well have developed if after this experience. As Gina drilled in the wood at a diagonal (with her bad hand, I might add) I stood half on her set of stairs and half clinging on to the ladder like some monkey, being held by Dominic, who I think was falling asleep on me. A boy turned around, looked at our predicament "Is that safe?"
"No" We shouted back.
We were SO artistic about it. "This one...no THAT one needs to go here. Not that one, Dominic, the...wood-looking one next to it. No. Yes. This should go over here. Up-side down. Break off a piece of that so it fits. Wait I dropped a screw. You do it. No YOU. No that's the wrong size. Isn't it beautiful?"
(After a bit of cheating) We were done with two sections. I climbed down from my seat on top of the ladder(which had a sign on it that said don't sit here) and we admired our work. And to think I couldn't even use a drill before today. I want you all to notice our lovely lovely work on the bricking between the arches, yes. Gina and me and I, that was. Oh, and thanks, Gina and Marz, for actually making working fun this time. I still need to get to know you guys better. But that'll come. This helped.
"Look at that! You're a mess! That's got to come out with something." It doesn't, we've tried.
I must say I'm quite proud of my new white pants. And white shirt. I could even tell you where each stripe and handprint was from. This one here? Yeah, that was Marzipan. This one, no that was me. I think that one was Dominic, yeah that's right. And this one back here is Gina's fault.
What did I do to help out? Well, a wild goose chase for hinges makes me never want to see one again. Those damned things come in so many sizes, and never the one we were looking for. I got my pants dirty by what I think they call "dutching". Now that was fun. And I blame you, Gina, for getting interrogated by my mom as to who put paint on the back of my jeans.
And then there was the bricking. And, be proud, I learned how to use power tools. Don't tell me you thought I was too girly-girly to use a drill. Or a powersaw. Marzipan giggled after cutting the one by four. I felt really handy with all that power in my hands.
It didn't go quite as planned. The man with his feet up on the desk told us how we were doing it wrong, as Gina and I tried to contort ourselves to screw in the wood high in the air. And yes, it does sound wrong. It's amazing how many sexual jokes can come from wood working. Wood. Screws. Cracks. Stripping. That's right, stripping. And yes we mostly used them all.
What's the fear of heights called? Something-phobia. Well I might as well have developed if after this experience. As Gina drilled in the wood at a diagonal (with her bad hand, I might add) I stood half on her set of stairs and half clinging on to the ladder like some monkey, being held by Dominic, who I think was falling asleep on me. A boy turned around, looked at our predicament "Is that safe?"
"No" We shouted back.
We were SO artistic about it. "This one...no THAT one needs to go here. Not that one, Dominic, the...wood-looking one next to it. No. Yes. This should go over here. Up-side down. Break off a piece of that so it fits. Wait I dropped a screw. You do it. No YOU. No that's the wrong size. Isn't it beautiful?"
(After a bit of cheating) We were done with two sections. I climbed down from my seat on top of the ladder(which had a sign on it that said don't sit here) and we admired our work. And to think I couldn't even use a drill before today. I want you all to notice our lovely lovely work on the bricking between the arches, yes. Gina and me and I, that was. Oh, and thanks, Gina and Marz, for actually making working fun this time. I still need to get to know you guys better. But that'll come. This helped.