So, anyway, here’s what happened. My daughter Julie bought this house two years ago. Last year, I cleaned out her front-of-the-house gutter. I remember not falling off the ladder. So I probably didn’t. I distinctly remember not remembering any ladder prohibitions. This year, I thought it was time to do her rear one. A gazillion tons of tree goop got rained from the towering sweet gum tree, clearly and ominously hovering over my daughter’s house from her dadburned neighbor’s yard, in the photo. Never mind, I scooped goop with my hand, wearing garden gloves so it wouldn’t mess up my manicure, which, being distinctly different from a girlicure, is okay; and then, as you can also see in the photo, using a technique I learned watching reruns of “Chicago Fire” episodes, I hosed the gutters clean.
Tah Dah! Ole Dad comes through again. The water in the rear gutter was flowing like a river.
As I drive the pickup back home, I notice people on front porches and on sidewalks are looking at me. Maybe it was because I was singing “A Good-Hearted Woman in Love with a Good Timin’ Man” at 119 db, which is 1 db below the threshold of pain. And I sing both Waylon’s and Willie’s parts. It’s not hard. When it’s time for a Waylon verse, I sing from my toenails. Willie, I just sing out of my nose. Anyway, it was a pleasant and triumphant drive home.
Until I got home. There I found the boss of everything standing in the driveway, arm’s akimbo. Turns out the daughter who owns the house snapped an iPhone pic of me standing at the edge of her roof hosing and posted it on her Facebook page. Then another daughter, I forget which as I have four or five of them, called my wife and sent her the link. And there I am. Busted.
Let me tell you, the boss of everything was not a good-hearted woman that afternoon.