At least it wasn’t Alice’s Restaurant.

(Sounds of the father grumbling about putting curtain rods back up in the exercise room, that and generally loudly bemoaning the lack of a portable electrical screwdriver.)

“Dad, do you want me to go get the power drill from downstairs?”

“No, but if I had a hammer…”  (pause)  “Oh, wait, you have a hammer.”

(Getting out of bed, pulling the hammer out from beneath, walking across the hall, handing it over.)

“I have a feeling this is an unfortunate folk medley waiting to happen.”

(Sounds of Peter Paul & Mary songs begin to be sung as I reunite with my OTP, Me/Internet.)


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