Adrian and I spent Saturday setting up bookcases in our house.
It was a nice bonding moment when we were shopping for them in holy-shit-crowded IKEA. We simultaneously elbowed elderly invalids and screaming children into sharp corners. We were an unstoppable team, weaving through couches and diving under barstools. It was an epic shopping trip for the Gavin household.
The actual building of the bookcases, however, did not go as well.
Adrian: “So, here’s the drill. They use bits, like this. To change the bit–”
Me: “Yeah. I know how. Thanks.”
Adrian: “Okay. If you want to tighten the hinge, you tighten these screws–”
Me: “Right. Adrian. Remember how I told you that my stepdad used Grace and I as free labor to build shit every day for 12 years? I totally wasn’t fucking around. I have tool skills.”
Adrian: “Tool skills? That sounds like part of a standardized test.”
Me: “I’m about go all three-toed sloth on you.”
Adrian: “Noa…not a threat.”
Me: “FUCK OFF.”
At this point, I set down the screwdriver in lieu of texting my sister and not throwing the still-drilling drill right at Adrian’s left eyeball. We can never seem to manage to be fucking normal and build shit lovingly.
Me: “Thus far, Adrian has treated me as though a screwdriver is a new device. It’d be cute if it weren’t fucking annoying.”
Grace: “This is why wee have a firm “no construction projects” rule.”
Me: “He just showed me how to tighten a hinge. Yeah, done that once or twice homie.”
Grace: “Has he taught you how to change a drill bit? That was fun over at my house.”
Me: “Yep. Just walked away.”
Grace: “Well, maybe after you learn basic tool skills, you can learn the responsibility that comes with getting that dog you want so bad.”
Me: “THESE ARE ALL SKILLS I CURRENTLY POSSES, AND IN GREATER DETAIL AND SCOPE THAN HE.”
Grace: “So true. So hard not to insult their masculinity. Have you been told about my dinosaur skills?”
Me: “Um. What?”
Yeah. Dinosaur skills. My cat-like curiosity got the best of me, and she gave me a rundown of her and Damon’s entirely too-specific skill sets, utilized so often in their home.
Dinosaur Skills: The ability to impersonate any dinosaur, though mostly only the Pterodactyl. I can picture it being both awesome and a little terrifying to see a small blonde woman shriek and wave her tiny arms while descending upon you.
UPDATE: Motherfucking Goat Skills: Grace texted me this morning, irritably informing me that I had left out her goat skills and therefore made her look less skilled than Damon. Grace has goat skills–the ability to whisper to goats. I don’t understand what this means, but it further solidifies my feelings of normalcy.
Woods Skills: At the tender age of 5, Damon had to ride his bike, alone, near some woods and across a very busy street to get to school each day. But, in his words, his family trusted him to be okay because he has “woods skills.”
Woodsman Skills: Is somehow different than woods skills, though no one can tell me how. Perhaps Woodsman Skills is understanding those men on Swamp People who sound to me as if they’re trying to carry on a conversation while giving a llama a blowjob while getting drug over gravel.
Ninja Skills: It’s true. Damon, my cajun brother-in-law, is a ninja. Even I didn’t know, but then again, that’s probably what makes him a spectacular ninja.
Statue Skills: The ability to impersonate any statue. This skill obviously came about around the same time as his ninja skills, because no one would expect the statue in the corner to rip your fucking face right off.
I’ve never felt more normal in my entire life than that moment.
Have any way-too-specific skills?