Passive-Aggressive Wasp Disposal, and Other Dad Adventures

It has come to my attention that I should be blogging, so here I am!  Let me tell you about my dad.

Dads are magical creatures.  They fix things, make fun of you when you complain, and are otherwise variously useful.  Mine is no exception.  Through the years, I have come to the conclusion that my dad's motto is "The best solution is whatever's entertaining."  As such, here is a list of problems and the solutions my dad applied.

1. The Dremel Tool - Way More Multipurpose Than Originally Believed

When I was 12, I broke my arm.  Only a matter of time, really, and it definitely could have been worse.  The cast was bright pink, and after six weeks I was ready to never see the thing again.  Unfortunately, my doctor was on vacation and he was apparently the only person in Alaska who could remove that godforsaken cast.  "He'll be back in two weeks," we were told.  "It won't hurt to leave it on that much longer."

My father thanked the nurse, hung up the phone, and gave me this sidelong glance.  "I'll be right back."

Ten minutes later, I was sitting at the kitchen table doing my best not to flinch, while my dad sawed through the fiberglass with the utmost concentration.  The cotton lining nearly caught fire but sure enough, it worked.  I was free!  We still have the cast, as both a testament to my dad's ingenuity and a reminder that I belong nowhere near a snowboard.

The dremel tool used to also be employed as a dog-claw sander, but after an unfortunate incident involving our long-haired dachshund's chest fur, it was retired.


2. Passive Aggressive Wasp Disposal

Wasps are spiteful malcontents who view the world as full of things that either can or cannot be stung.  As one of the many things that can be stung, I tend to view them less than favorably.  This is unfortunate, considering the fact that my house is a wasp magnet.  For instance:

Right on the property line, there was once a stump.  A few years ago, that stump filled with wasps, and made the morning dog-walk somewhat nerve wracking for me.  One day, returning from the jaunt, my dad eyeballed the stump and said "I'll take care of it by morning."

Sure enough, the next morning saw the stump covered in a bucket.  He'd waited until the wasps were asleep in the nest, then doused them with lighter fluid, putting the bucket over to trap the fumes and suffocate the terrors.  Worked like a charm.

However, when they invaded our deck, he was not so merciful.

I woke up one morning to find my dad, standing below the deck, smiling as a small cloud of wasps milled about the planks.

"Dad...what?"
"I found their entrance."
"You...okay."
"No, see, now they can't get in!"
"So you're torturing insects?"
"They started it."

Every time they found a new way in, he'd block it.  Within a week they were gone.



3.  Drawers: The Final Frontier

We live with a bit of a menagerie.  Between the three dogs, three cats, the crow, and the scavenger that is my mom, nothing edible is ever safe.  Well, nothing edible, and my dad's hats.  It was with this in mind that my dad acquired our coffee table.

This thing is less a table and more a solid block of wood with table-like qualities.  There are about three inches between its bottom and the floor, and encased within are several moderately-sized drawers.  Since we are a family of pack rats, it's rare that a drawer goes unused, but sometimes it gets ridiculous.

Several months ago, I was talking to my dad as he sat on our couch.  He had his feet propped up on said table, and a piece of pie (in its own little wedge-shaped container) in his hands.  After a few bites, he put his feet down, closed the container, and put it in a drawer.

"Did you just put pie in the table?"
"Yeah."
"Okay."

He let me look inside the drawer, and next to the pie was the remote and a small package of cookies.

"See, this way the dogs can't get it, and I don't have to go to the kitchen."
"That is a true statement."

Flash forward to two weeks ago.

I couldn't find any pairs of scissors, but dimly recalled fetching them for my dad to use in the living room.  He's recently blown out both knees, so it's become common practice to run and grab things, instead of him having to make the trek himself.  It was with some trepidation that I decided to take a look in the coffee table.

The top drawer held an oatmeal raisin cookie, centered on a white napkin; a scattered assortment of flavored tootsie rolls (the kind no one really eats but always winds up with); and a fake human hand.

No scissors.

The second drawer was empty save for one thing: my dad's fedora-esque hat.

I eventually found the scissors (where they were supposed to be, against all odds), and when I asked my dad about the table's contents, he replied:

"You never know when you might need a hand."