I believe I completely know how Tim “The Tool Man” Taylor must have felt each time he held a power tool in his hand. Sunday evening the bubbly hubby and I decided to finally open our screened-in outdoor living area so that we could take advantage of some of the cool evenings that have followed tremendous heat and high humidity days. Ordinarily, Steve has this done in early May, and usually has dinner made and the outdoor table set for a nice little evening free of bugs and whatnot.
I love our outdoor living space because I can sit on our very generous swing and place a table in front of it, my laptop on top of the table, beverage of choice beside it, and allow the creativity to move my nimble fingers across the keys, their steady tap-tap-tap beating out the rhythm of a great mystery to be solved by my favorite heroine.
But I digress.
My swing turned 13 years old in May, and so did the cushion, which accidentally got left out in the elements instead of being securely tucked away for the winter. Sadly, it needed replaced. Not an easy task, I assure you since I wanted something very comparable to the original cushion. So, Steve and I went shopping for what seemed like the eighth or tenth time, having taken back the cushion we bought in May because–while it looked nice in the store–it did not quite suit the character of the swing.
While we were out Steve said he wanted to buy a power/pressure washer so the cleaning of the outdoor living space would move faster and more thoroughly. We finally settled on a washer about the same time we settled on the new swing cushion, which not only suits the character of the swing, but also passes the “Can I nap on it comfortably?” test. We’re driving home and I asked, “Will you be power washing tonight?” Even though it’s 90+ degrees and humid as can be. I’m anxious to use the swing and new cushion.
He shakes his head affirmatively, “I have a new toy, er, new tool to test, so I very well may power wash tonight.”
As we empty the trunk of our purchases, I caution that perhaps it’s not the best time to power wash given the fact that within seconds of being out of the air conditioning everything sticks to skin, and it’s as hot as a pizza oven outside.
He nods, considering my comments, but I can tell by the glint in his eye that he’s going to get that power washer out of the box and be outside before I can make the same cautionary comment. And I’m right.
Sitting on the sofa in the house–where it’s not only cool and comfortable, but also humidity-free–I listen to the whir of the power washer and wonder what all the excitement is about power tools. Changing into a pair of old capris and a tee, bare foot, and ready to get soaked, I open the side door and stick my head out.
“How’s it going?” I ask as I look around and notice everything is white again and spotless.
“This thing works like a dream,” he responds. “I don’t think I need to repaint the banisters after all.”
I notice that he’s cleaned the screened walls, the banisters, and the flooring, but all the furniture is outside on the lawn. “Can I power wash?” I ask.
“Sure, just put something on your feet.”
I grab his sandals from inside the door, slip my feet into them, and follow him out to the lawn. He hands me the power gun, which isn’t as heavy as I imagined, and instructs me on how to use it. I aim it at the first patio chair and squeeze the trigger. A 46-degree jet of water shoots out and obliterates the winter grime covering the patio chair. Instantly, I hear the tool man’s guttural, “ooh-ooh-ohho-oh” in my mind and nearly belt it out myself.
Steve turns the chair over and I do the underside before he flips it back over for me to do the topside again. Instantly–and I do mean instantly–the patio chair looks brand new … like I just brought it home from the store.
I grin. I can understand why Steve jokingly–or was it–said he had a new toy to try out. I move onto the next patio chair, then the table, then my ornamental flag my friend, Sharon gave me eons ago. Hah! What do you know? The flag looks as good as the day I first set it out! Now, I’m ready to power wash everything in sight! Let me at it!
I go back into the screened enclosure and look at my old friend the swing. “You haven’t done this yet?” I inquire?
Steve shakes his head. “Not yet.”
“Good.” And I unleash my jet stream of water and soap onto the swing. Last winter’s grime is no match for my, er, Steve’s new power washer!
I release the trigger, lower the gun, and stare at the now clean swing glistening with droplets of water. I look toward the sky and unleash my own version of the tool grunt.
Yes, indeed, I am woman. I use power tools. Hear me roar!