Sometimes he has not so great ideas. Hiding dirty dishes in the clothes dryer, there's a good example of a bad idea. Deciding to get an electric organ from the thrift store? Not that grand of a scheme if you ask me. He warned me it was coming. They actually delivered it - for free - if we would take it off their hands. It looked like a That Seventies Organ, all funky colors of orange and purple. No matter, he put in in his man cave, AKA The Honey House. Like me and my piano that we haul around with each move, he didn't find the time to play it.
Tomorrow is e-waste pick-up day on our street. An electric organ is e-waste, right? It better be. The problem was that all our he-man friends were out doing things way more interesting than hauling The Partridge Family's instruments to our curb. It was left to the two of us. I let the guy who found it get the ball rolling and waited until he needed my assistance.
Soon I heard him calling. He was on the lawn with the organ on a skateboard, the wheels bogged down in the grass. The dog of course thought it was a great time to play, "I will choose this moment to let you play fetch with me now that you are involved in something really important." She was lying in the path of the whole operation, staring at her ball with keen anticipation.
Who moves furniture with a skateboard? My Ernst. Across the grass? Apparently no one does, not even Ernst. I had the grand idea to go get the dolly, like normal people. So with me in my pajamas and the dog dropping her tennis ball in the path of our travel, we made it to the curb with the psychedelic relic. If e-waste doesn't want it? Anyone want a