If I Had a Hammerer

Last weekend my mother insisted that I help her install some lattice work on the side of her deck. Should I tell you the reason why she wanted the lattice installed? Should I? It's really kind of embarassing, so on second thought... I will. She wants it there so she can sunbathe in the nude and not have people driving by seeing her.

You can always count on me for tact, discretion, and above all else, dignity.

So there I was, holding some low-grade lattice work against a guard railing, watching my mother hammer in nails below.

Joel: I've always wondered why they call it a hammer. It doesn't really ham, does it? Never seen it do anything remotely close to hamming. I guess it does hammer, but following standard naming coventions it should be called a hammerER, shouldn't it?

Mumsy: *distant grunt*

Joel: Although I suppose if you hit your finger it would turn into ham. Then it could be aptly called a hammer. Say, do you think they call them nails because back in the day they would use fingernails to attach items together?

Mumsy: *distant grunt*

She hammered in a nail, which missed the post by a hair.

Mumsy: I missed the post, didn't I?

Joel: Yep, you did. But it's so close to the post there's no chance anybody could run into it. They'd really have to do some planning in order to run into it, you know. They'd have to have a good night's sleep, do some stretches, and really psyche themselves up for it. Then run slow-motion while the Chariots of Fire theme plays in the background. That's probably the only way it could happen.

Mumsy:... did you just hit your head or something?

At this time, I would like to point out that I am available to help with your household projects at very reasonable rates! Look me up, I'm in the book. The DSM-IV, that is. Toodles!