Hand Me That Builder- Grade Rebar

My husband occasionally sends me out to get materials for a job he is working on. As far as I'm concerned this is a cruel and unusual punishment.  I break out in a sweat just thinking about it.   And yet, trooper that I am, I am willing to give it  the old college try.  Before I leave, I write down EXACTLY what he says he wants. Then on the drive to the big box "Do-It-Yourself" (ha ha good one! Obviously THEY've never seen me try to convert inches to meters or cut a straight line.) store,  I give myself a pep talk.  "This time, Marni, will be different.  How hard could it be to find 3- 16 foot pieces of 1.5 X 3  ?  I'm a grown woman.  I can figure this out.  Especially since I have the cutest measuring tape known to Woman."

I may have a willing spirit, but generally, I am a hopeless ruin within minutes of entering the store.  Everything looks the same. Electrical, plumbing, wood, handles, sinks, faucets, flooring, painting, landscaping, heating.

 All.  The.  Same. 

And before too long, my feet start to hurt. [I should probably wear gumboots instead of heels.]  I wander around the store, trying to look hopeless enough for some Customer Service Specialist [which they usually are NOT] to rescue me. If they actually do know what they are talking about (which would be only a guess on my part)(but I recognize hopeless ignorance when I see it in another's eyes), I latch onto them like they have the only life preserver on board. 

I follow them around trying to look intellegent about "all things building materials". 

I give eye contact.  I smile.  I nod.

I understand nothing. 

But I have my list.  And as long as they only talk about what is on it, I'm good.  But if they don't stick to the list, and start asking me questions about something that isn't written down, I am in big trouble.  Invariably they will ask a question not found on the page, and my "I'm-really-a-subcontractor" ruse  disintegrates faster than a foundation made of pea gravel.  "Where is he going to be bevelling this?"  "Is this for a dovetail joint?"  "How is he going to lay out the studs?"

Ummmm.  I don't know? 
At this juncture, I have no choice.  I must resort to phoning my husband.  Usually this means routing out my son who is upstairs playing on the computer to go downstairs and out to the back 40 to find his dad so I can ask stupid questions like:  "Oh, hey Hon, I've got 'the guy' here and he just asked me if I want the black metal thingy to be the 7 inch or the 9 inch.."

then later,
"Hon, I'm in the electrical department and I'm looking at these whichymadoodles and I'm not sure what you meant by can't see which one has a capacitor...you know what? I'm going to take a picture and send it to you and you can text me if I'm even looking at the right things.."

and then still later (o.k, only 2 minutes later),

" Hi Hon, so I asked about that 26" inch door and he's asking if we want a right hand return or a left...I wasn't sure...pardon? firestop? what's that? ...oh...I'm not sure...oh you know what? I'll just let you tell him what you meant." [cuz I sure don't know.]

I don't think I actually save my husband much time, other than to allow him to go out to the back forty and play farmer while I'm away (AHA! I just realized his evil ploy!)

The end of these trips always look the same.  I get home, he looks at the materials I've bought, and begins finding fault.  "Couldn't you find the glazing compound?"  "I said I needed Polybutylene pipe, not Polyvinyl Chloride. "         

Shoot me now.

My husband firmly believes that somewhere in my brain where I have the capacity to retain dimensions of conduit pipes, the drying time needed for adhesives in 6 degree weather, and the difference between biscuits and cantilever.  He is forever optimistic that someday I will find construction terms so fascinating I will commit them to my long term memory. 

WRONG.

I always set out to do this, but they are like sand in my brain.  The information goes through an immediate delamination process in my neocortex as soon as I bring home the materials he asked for.  And it doesn't seem remotely familiar again until he sends me on another wild goose chase to get some more. 

Which is today. 

Like I said...Shoot me now.