The Eyes Have It - Time On My Hands

By Steve Bussiere

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I was thinking, which isn't a very good thing for me to do at times, about the last column. It's not an ego thing, but I was at the infamous Woodlands, Outdoor Garage Sale and Massacree, a couple of weeks ago, and in a fit of culture, I purchased a Print of a picture somebody had.

Had is the key word here, cause now it's mine all mine!!

And then, as I rode down the highway the other morning, I realized the danged thing was naked!

Unframed!

Unloved.

Naked to the world. Well just picture that.

So being the sensitive, new millennium type of guy I have become, I decided to buy it, it's very own frame, and give it it's very own place of honor on the wall of my humble and here too for, bachelor pad.

Look, I'll be honest, a home decorating genius I will never be. That would be a serious problem, if I had anything remotely resembling good taste.

Let's face it; I just ain't a haute couture kind of guy. Whatever haute couture is.

I'm not even sure I can spell the word correctly, so it doesn't matter that I'm not sure what it means.

But I'm wandering aimlessly here dear readers. As I was saying, I needed to find a frame for my priceless piece of art.

As I was cruising down the Inter State, I spotted a craft store. Thinking that that was how I originally found Texas, and that worked out pretty well for me, I pulled off the highway and headed in to the store.

There is nothing more ridiculous than a left handed writer, with slightly less than no experience in things artistic and crafty, entering an establishment of that ilk.

But we're talking about me here, so I ignored my own good sense and boldly entered where no man in his right mind ought to.

I really should have known better, but I did it anyway.

Those of you of the female persuasion who are reading this know full well that I had entered no man's land.

For you males, let this be a warning to you, and learn from my folly.

If you ever get the urge to enter one of these establishments, take a pass on it and get as far away as you possibly can.

They have a lot of stuff in these places, designed to confuse men.

They have stuff in them, which I am certain is only placed there to keep the men out, because they have absolutely no value for us.

The women know this, and they never would consider purchasing any of it. It is the first line of defense against our attempts to trespass into their peaceful territory.

Oh it's true they have a few men working in them, but I figured out that that is a ruse as well, designed to place a sense of false confidence in the unsuspecting male who dares to cross the line.

I walked deeper into the bowels of this place, wondering where the heck Clark, Alton Rich and the other single guys who attempt to decorate were when I needed them for support.

They had so much merchandise in there that I wandered like a zombie through the place, not daring to look too much for fear of confusing myself even more.

They hide the picture frames at the very back of the store, and as I wandered deeper into "Never Never Land" the panic feelings grew stronger with each step I took.

But I finally arrived at the frame section.

Did you know that if you are going to buy a picture frame, rule number one is you need to know what the picture dimensions are?

Neither did I!

I'd know better next time, but there is never going to be a next time, and you can take that to the bank!

Sometimes when making a decision, you have to take an educated guess. The print I had purchase was big, so I looked around and finally found the largest frame in the store. So I bravely grabbed it off the shelf and went back to the check out counter.

Finally I arrived at the cash and when the clerk looked up, it was a woman I knew. "What are you doing in here Steve?" she asked me.

"I bought a print and needed a frame for it."

"Oh, for your bachelor pad, huh?"

"Yeah, such as it is. You know, decorated in early depression motif. I'm trying to spruce it up."

There were several ladies in the line behind me, who apparently felt sorry for me and began to offer decorating advice designed to confuse me.

One very nice lady pointed at some flower arrangements. "You should get one of those for your place. That one there is really nice. And it half off today."

Dena the clerk jumped into the fray. "Yes, you should get it Steve."

"I don't do flowers. I'll over water them and kill them anyway. Besides, something that nice will make the rest of my stuff look even crappier than it already looks."

The very thoughtful lady who had pointed out the arrangement said, "They're not real. You don't need to water them." And she smiled condescendingly at me.

My jaw dropped.

They sure looked real to this uneducated eye.

"You mean… they have man proof plants now?"

They all started giggling at me.

Dena looked up from the register, "Of course they do Steve. Even you couldn't kill one of them."

"What do you have to do to them?" I wondered aloud.

"Oh, all you have to do is dust them once in a while." another lady in the line offered.

A let go with a relieved sigh, "Ok that settles it. No way I'm getting one of them. I don't do dusting. It's a bachelor pad."

I looked at Dena, took my bill, picked up my frame, and headed for the door as quickly as my scrawny legs could get me there.

"Thank you for the help ladies." I said and turned to the door and the safe and secure real world outside.

As I headed for my car I sang softly to myself.

"Ashes to ashes, dust to funky, I ain't no artsy, craftsy junkie."