Dad's changed. He didn't get angry and start screaming and raging at Doc III and Dork for skipping out of work last Saturday. So, on Sunday after dinner, the pair started to paint the siding while Johnny Nelson, his older sister, Judy, and I were sitting on their front steps. "My goodness, who picked out that awful color?" asked Judy.
"For certain, I didn't," I said.
She giggled. "What's it called?"
"Puke Green."
Usually soft spoken and modest, Judy cackled as loud as the Wicked Witch of the West. "You've got to be kidding me, Gordy Hoffman."
"I am, but Puke Green should be its name."
"It's uglier than a skunk's armpit," observed Johnny.
"Skunk's armpit?" I said in disbelief. "Skunks don't have armpits. They have four legs but no arms. Where'd that come from?"
Johnny shrugged. "Heck if I know, but that's what it reminds me of."
"I think Johnny meant a skunk's ass," said Byron Nelson, Johnny and Judy's father, who had been sitting on a chair and reading a newspaper.
“Byron, watch your language in front of the kids,” said Rose, his wife.
Byron added, "I wouldn't have painted Hitler's house that color, for Chrissake." We three kids had to continually wipe tears from our cheeks since we were laughing so hard.
After finishing painting that day, Doc III and Dork had more paint on them than they'd brushed on the house. While we were eating supper, Dad asked, "How is the work coming along?"
It seemed like it took all of Doc III's strength to sigh and say, "The rate we're going, we'll still be painting in September of next year."
"You really think so?" said Dad.
"I know so," chimed in Dork, drawing in a deep breath and ever so slowly exhaling. He sounded like my Schwinn's front tire when its innertube had a slow leak.
"Well, does either of you have an idea as to how we can speed up the job?" asked Dad.
"I could help paint," I offered. "That way, you'd have three painters instead of two."
"We don't want Piss Pants' help," said Dork.
"Don't call your brother, Piss Pants," said Dad.
Dork's response was a silent, nasty grin.
"I agree with Bill," said Doc III. "Gordy won't be much help."
"But—" I tried.
"No, Gordy," said Dad. "That's not going to happen." Dad re-set his focus on the painters. "Well, does either of you have an idea?"
"Yes, if we could spray paint, we'd finish the job a lot sooner," said Doc III.
Dad didn't say anything for a while although his eyebrows looked like upside-down capital V's. That's why I figured he was giving Doc III's idea some credence. (Thank you, RDWPP, Readers Digest Word Power page)
Finally, Dad spoke. "You'll need a painter's mask, so you don't breathe in paint or fumes, an air compressor, hoses, and a spray gun. The only businesses that own that equipment are auto body shops. If I had to buy all that stuff, I could save money by hiring professionals to paint our house."
"I thought of that," said Doc III, "but you wanted ideas."
"Tell you what," said Dad, "I'll look further into it, but continue to paint the way you have been. What you've done so far looks good."
See what I mean, Diary, how Dad has changed? How in the world could that paint color look good to anyone? I just had to be adopted.
As the painting continued, Dad drove downtown one Saturday morning. When he arrived home in the afternoon, I heard him shout, "That was a good idea, James."
Since I was working on my bicycle in the front yard, I got nosy and approached Dad and my so-called brothers on the driveway. The next thing I heard Dad say was, "Did you realize we already own an air compressor?"
"That's news to me," replied Doc III.
"Me too," said Dork, the Me-Too big wheel high school Freshman.
Dad grinned. "Well, it was news to me, too. Our compressor turns out to be the Oldsmobile's engine."
"The engine?" exclaimed both of my surprised brothers.
"Yes, the man at the Mautz paint store told me he could rent me hoses with sparkplug adapters, paint mask, and spray gun for what seems to be a reasonable price, that is, if you don't take too long because he rents the equipment by the day."
"Did you—" started Doc III.
"I did," said Dad with a grin. "Everything's in the trunk. Bill, take this key and open the lid. Bring me that new Montgomery Ward socket set kit. James, I want you to lift the hood."
"You have a Monkey Ward’s socket wrench set? I said to Dad. "Mister Kell does, too." Dad didn't pay any attention to what I'd said.
Instead, he continued talking to Doc III. "After you lift the hood, would you grab what else is in the trunk, except for the spare, and set everything on the driveway? Then, I want you or Bill to remove two spark plugs on the same side of the engine but not next to each other. According to the man at Mautz, all we must do is screw in those steel hose adapter ends into the sparkplug holes, and we'll be good to go."
Unbelievably, Diary, it was like magic. With everything hooked up and Puke Green poured into the paint gun, Dad started the car. Doc III wore a cap and paint mask. Dork manned the hoses. I could've done that with one arm tied behind my back. Doc III started spraying. Wow, he was able to paint in a short time what it would've taken him and Dork all day with brushes.
Dork looked at Dad and grinned. "We'll be done in no time at all," he said. "What do you think about that, Piss Pants?"
"What'd I tell you about calling your brother that name?" said Dad.
Dork didn't answer. He grinned instead. His usually nasty grin.
I was not pleased at all, Diary. I wanted Dork to suffer.
"For certain, I didn't," I said.
She giggled. "What's it called?"
"Puke Green."
Usually soft spoken and modest, Judy cackled as loud as the Wicked Witch of the West. "You've got to be kidding me, Gordy Hoffman."
"I am, but Puke Green should be its name."
"It's uglier than a skunk's armpit," observed Johnny.
"Skunk's armpit?" I said in disbelief. "Skunks don't have armpits. They have four legs but no arms. Where'd that come from?"
Johnny shrugged. "Heck if I know, but that's what it reminds me of."
"I think Johnny meant a skunk's ass," said Byron Nelson, Johnny and Judy's father, who had been sitting on a chair and reading a newspaper.
“Byron, watch your language in front of the kids,” said Rose, his wife.
Byron added, "I wouldn't have painted Hitler's house that color, for Chrissake." We three kids had to continually wipe tears from our cheeks since we were laughing so hard.
After finishing painting that day, Doc III and Dork had more paint on them than they'd brushed on the house. While we were eating supper, Dad asked, "How is the work coming along?"
It seemed like it took all of Doc III's strength to sigh and say, "The rate we're going, we'll still be painting in September of next year."
"You really think so?" said Dad.
"I know so," chimed in Dork, drawing in a deep breath and ever so slowly exhaling. He sounded like my Schwinn's front tire when its innertube had a slow leak.
"Well, does either of you have an idea as to how we can speed up the job?" asked Dad.
"I could help paint," I offered. "That way, you'd have three painters instead of two."
"We don't want Piss Pants' help," said Dork.
"Don't call your brother, Piss Pants," said Dad.
Dork's response was a silent, nasty grin.
"I agree with Bill," said Doc III. "Gordy won't be much help."
"But—" I tried.
"No, Gordy," said Dad. "That's not going to happen." Dad re-set his focus on the painters. "Well, does either of you have an idea?"
"Yes, if we could spray paint, we'd finish the job a lot sooner," said Doc III.
Dad didn't say anything for a while although his eyebrows looked like upside-down capital V's. That's why I figured he was giving Doc III's idea some credence. (Thank you, RDWPP, Readers Digest Word Power page)
Finally, Dad spoke. "You'll need a painter's mask, so you don't breathe in paint or fumes, an air compressor, hoses, and a spray gun. The only businesses that own that equipment are auto body shops. If I had to buy all that stuff, I could save money by hiring professionals to paint our house."
"I thought of that," said Doc III, "but you wanted ideas."
"Tell you what," said Dad, "I'll look further into it, but continue to paint the way you have been. What you've done so far looks good."
See what I mean, Diary, how Dad has changed? How in the world could that paint color look good to anyone? I just had to be adopted.
As the painting continued, Dad drove downtown one Saturday morning. When he arrived home in the afternoon, I heard him shout, "That was a good idea, James."
Since I was working on my bicycle in the front yard, I got nosy and approached Dad and my so-called brothers on the driveway. The next thing I heard Dad say was, "Did you realize we already own an air compressor?"
"That's news to me," replied Doc III.
"Me too," said Dork, the Me-Too big wheel high school Freshman.
Dad grinned. "Well, it was news to me, too. Our compressor turns out to be the Oldsmobile's engine."
"The engine?" exclaimed both of my surprised brothers.
"Yes, the man at the Mautz paint store told me he could rent me hoses with sparkplug adapters, paint mask, and spray gun for what seems to be a reasonable price, that is, if you don't take too long because he rents the equipment by the day."
"Did you—" started Doc III.
"I did," said Dad with a grin. "Everything's in the trunk. Bill, take this key and open the lid. Bring me that new Montgomery Ward socket set kit. James, I want you to lift the hood."
"You have a Monkey Ward’s socket wrench set? I said to Dad. "Mister Kell does, too." Dad didn't pay any attention to what I'd said.
Instead, he continued talking to Doc III. "After you lift the hood, would you grab what else is in the trunk, except for the spare, and set everything on the driveway? Then, I want you or Bill to remove two spark plugs on the same side of the engine but not next to each other. According to the man at Mautz, all we must do is screw in those steel hose adapter ends into the sparkplug holes, and we'll be good to go."
Unbelievably, Diary, it was like magic. With everything hooked up and Puke Green poured into the paint gun, Dad started the car. Doc III wore a cap and paint mask. Dork manned the hoses. I could've done that with one arm tied behind my back. Doc III started spraying. Wow, he was able to paint in a short time what it would've taken him and Dork all day with brushes.
Dork looked at Dad and grinned. "We'll be done in no time at all," he said. "What do you think about that, Piss Pants?"
"What'd I tell you about calling your brother that name?" said Dad.
Dork didn't answer. He grinned instead. His usually nasty grin.
I was not pleased at all, Diary. I wanted Dork to suffer.