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Bar can't be undone, even with switch off
(by Christine Thome - October 20, 2010)
BEYOND MY CONTROL, BY CHRISTINE THOME
Bar can't be undone, even with switch off
"Ooowwwww!" I heard my mother-in-law scream from the kitchen.
"What's wrong?" I cried as I ran in with another stack of dirty dishes from the dining room.
"I just burned my hand! I turned the water to cold, but it came out boiling hot!" she sobbed as she pointed, terrified, at the offending kitchen faucet.
"Oh," I said calmly. "That would be another fine fix-it job by Dyslexic Dad."
"What in the world are you talking about?" she questioned.
"You're well aware that your son is dyslexic, right?" I asked.
"Of course," she said. "Who could forget the time he wrote down his college phone number for me, only to accidentally transpose two numbers. I called him on a Sunday morning to see how his first week of college went only to be greeted by a phone-sex answering machine. I'm still not positive the number was wrong."
I wasn't so sure she had the wrong number either, but some things are better left unsaid. What happens at college should sometimes just stay at college.
"What were we talking about?" I asked, desperately wanting to get away from the phone-sex conversation.
"The faucet," she said, holding up her hurting hand.
"That's right," I said, handing her a bag of ice. "You see, the faucet was leaking, so John decided to replace it. He fixed the leak just fine, but in his dyslexic state, he reversed the temperatures."
She gave me a confused look.
"Hot is now cold, and cold is now hot," I said. "I'm sorry, our family is used to it, but I should place a note nearby for everyone else." Especially those nice enough to help me with the dishes.
This is not the first Dyslexic Dad fix-it job in our house. Many of our wall-mounted light switches require you to push the lever down to turn it on and flip it up to turn it off. To open the garage door, simply hit the close button. To close it, smack the open button.
Every day is opposite day in our home.
The other day, John's buddies were watching a football game on our back deck, when one of the guys asked to go in and wash his hands. "Sure," I said. "Just beware that the hot is cold and the cold is hot!"
"Huh?" they all asked. My warning was obviously much too difficult for a bunch of beer-drinking guys to understand.
So I told them some of John's Dyslexic Dad stories, providing them with plenty of ammunition for future heckling.
"In fact, that new lamp you put on the side porch is upside down," I said.
"It is not! It works just fine," John said.
"I didn't say it didn't work; I just said it's upside down. Go check it out."
Within seconds, the entire back porch emptied and the guys were crowded around the decorative lamp, examining it like a fine piece of art, or in their case, a pin-up poster.
"Dude! She's right. It is upside down," they laughed, hitting John on the back and falling over themselves.
"That's it!" John yelled. "I'm going to finish watching this game at the bra."
"Excuse me?" I said with raised my eyebrows.
"Bar! I meant bar!"
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