Fixing the Garage Door—A Short Story

It was time for school.
Mommy also wanted to go to CrossFit.
Mommy pushed the garage door opener, but NOTHING happened.
Well, crap.
Mommy tried again.  Still nothing.
The bus rumbled around the corner, so Mommy tossed the kids out into the snow.
They caught the bus.  Barely.
Mommy was still stuck in the garage.  Grrr.
Mommy’s toes were starting to freeze.
Daddy was in California.
Mommy called Daddy to demand a solution.  Because everybody knows that daddys can fix things in Missouri ALL the way from California.  That’s their job.
Since the kids were safely out of earshot, Mommy demanded that Daddy get her the fuck out of the garage…pretty please.
Daddy could not help.
Mommy pulled the string on the garage door to manually open the door.
The whole damned string popped off.  Mommy did not use safe words.
Mommy considered giving up her CrossFit plan and going in the house to day-drink instead.
Mommy got the ladder from the back of the garage.  (Daddy suggested climbing on top of the car, but Mommy told him he should eat a frozen dog turd.)
The ladder was frozen to the floor.  Mommy kicked it.  (Mommy’s toe still hurts.)
Mommy got a screwdriver.  (Not the kind with vodka.)  Mommy violently and repeatedly rammed the screwdriver into the stupid, stupid, dumb, idiotic thingy that should have popped up when Mommy pulled the string to release the manual shit-workings or the garage door opener.
It popped loose a couple of times.  Mommy attempted to lift the door a couple of times.
Mommy eyed the tool she really needed in the corner of the garage.

The garage door is open now.
Daddy may be surprised at the remodeling job that occurred while he was out of town.
The end.

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