I just wanted a rubber band. One rubber band from the kitchen junk basket.
This was too much to ask from the junk basket. Four minutes and thirty seven seconds into the task I marched – marched calmly – to the basement for my sledge hammer. It is a 10 pound sledge. Not the heaviest. It has a shock absorbing plastic handle. Not the most traditional.
(When I bought my sledge two older guys in line with me nudged each other a whole lot until one of them worked up the nerve to ask – “Is that for your husband’s truck? Heh heh heh,” they both laughed and poked each other with gnarled index fingers. “Hoo boy, he must have done something pret-ty bad. Heh heh heh.” I didn’t smile. “Yep,” I said.)
Next time I want a rubber band, the [new] kitchen junk basket should consider giving it up easy.