Shadoom
09-15-2003, 06:19 AM
"What's the table for, Dad?" the middle daughter asks.
My wife and I were unloading a small- but-sturdy table from the truck. We'd found it -- steel frame, formica top, adjustable height -- at a garage sale.
"Uh... We're going to put that extra TV in our room, so Mom and I can watch movies at night."
My eldest daughter wrinkles her nose. "It's kinda ugly, isn't it?"
"I'll put something over it," my wife says.
We carry the table inside, down the hall, and into our bedroom. My wife leaves to do something on her computer; I find a toolbox and adjust the table's height. Then I call my wife back, since we need to test the height. We put a foam pad and some pillows on the table; she's petite, so I grab a step stool from the kitchen, placing it next to the table. She starts climbing up when...
"What are you doing?" This time, it's my youngest daughter, all of 8 years old. Apparently, we'd left the door ajar.
"Testing to see if it's strong enough to hold the TV," I said. "Now shoo!" I close and lock our door, grumbling.
My wife lays down -- clothed, as it's mid afternoon -- and she scoots around on the padding until she's positioned near the end of the table. I roll her skirt over her knees, and push against her. "Things" don't quite meet up; I need to lower the table a couple of inches. We drop one end a few inches, and the table now has a distinct tilt.
"It looks like one of those Minbari beds," my wife says with a giggle. "'Oh John! Show me how Earther's do it!'"
We hear a loud "EEWWWWWW!" from outside our door. My bellow is greeted with the sound of scurrying little feet.
It's a wonder we managed to create three kids, and that they've survived this long.
(PS for the curious: The table worked wonderfully last night -- and it offers some very nice tie-offs, too!)
My wife and I were unloading a small- but-sturdy table from the truck. We'd found it -- steel frame, formica top, adjustable height -- at a garage sale.
"Uh... We're going to put that extra TV in our room, so Mom and I can watch movies at night."
My eldest daughter wrinkles her nose. "It's kinda ugly, isn't it?"
"I'll put something over it," my wife says.
We carry the table inside, down the hall, and into our bedroom. My wife leaves to do something on her computer; I find a toolbox and adjust the table's height. Then I call my wife back, since we need to test the height. We put a foam pad and some pillows on the table; she's petite, so I grab a step stool from the kitchen, placing it next to the table. She starts climbing up when...
"What are you doing?" This time, it's my youngest daughter, all of 8 years old. Apparently, we'd left the door ajar.
"Testing to see if it's strong enough to hold the TV," I said. "Now shoo!" I close and lock our door, grumbling.
My wife lays down -- clothed, as it's mid afternoon -- and she scoots around on the padding until she's positioned near the end of the table. I roll her skirt over her knees, and push against her. "Things" don't quite meet up; I need to lower the table a couple of inches. We drop one end a few inches, and the table now has a distinct tilt.
"It looks like one of those Minbari beds," my wife says with a giggle. "'Oh John! Show me how Earther's do it!'"
We hear a loud "EEWWWWWW!" from outside our door. My bellow is greeted with the sound of scurrying little feet.
It's a wonder we managed to create three kids, and that they've survived this long.
(PS for the curious: The table worked wonderfully last night -- and it offers some very nice tie-offs, too!)