Weapons of My Destruction

An array of yard tools hangs on our garage wall next to where I park my SUV. No one knows (or will admit) why I was assigned the stall next to the tools. The Driver of the Other Car gets to park next to the recycling bin, while I squeeze my vehicle into the space next to rusty shovels, rakes, and hack saws -- each one hanging precariously, just waiting to fall and split my head open. It is only a matter of time.

Every time I get in and out of my SUV, my door bumps up against a handle and the tool swings ominously away from the wall. See that curved blade with the orange handle? It's sharp enough to cut tree limbs as thick as my leg, a feature I considered as it fell from the wall last summer, narrowly missing my head. Earlier this week, I caught a shovel just before it hit me in the face. It's only a matter of time before I'm knocked unconscious by the pruning shears or skewered by a rusty rake.

So on the day the UPS guy finds me lying on the garage floor, I hope someone will print this blog post. Kindly take it to the emergency room and tell the surgeon repairing the hole in my skull that I accurately predicted my demise.