So, as most of you know, Malystryx (aka bluedragoon25) is moving into the spare room on the first floor of our home. Yesterday, he brought over his extensive collection of swords and medieval weaponry.
Since I have three boys, we all decided it was in our best interests to lock the weapons up as none of us are thrilled at the prospect of dealing with severed limbs, gashed heads, or a tail-less cat.
Mal decided to place the weapons on the top shelf of his clost and buy a latch for the doors. This seemed like a good plan to us. My hubby and Mal took a trip to Lowe's and came home with a latch that required both pushing in a button and sliding at the same time to open it.
The closet in Mal's room has two doors that pull open. My hubby grabbed his drill and the latch and went to work.
For the rest of this story to make any sense, you need to know that my hubby was having the kind of day only Murphy can deliver. He has two cake orders to fill this week, one of which is an entry for the fair and is an incredibly difficult cake to make. (A bride and groom - each about 1 1/2 ft. tall - dancing) Earlier in the afternoon, my hubby had two round cakes baking and the middle of one just collapsed. It was like he'd somehow managed to bake an Angel Food Cake without using the proper pan.
He was not happy.
To make matters worse, as he was working to whip up another batch of cake batter to re-bake the collapsed cake, he dropped an entire bag of cake mix all over the floor. The only one happy about that turn of events was the dog.
Now, with the new cake in the oven, my hubby was attacking the relatively simple task of drilling screws into the closet door.
The screws refused to go.
They popped out, flew in all directions, blended into the carpet and required impaling your foot on them to find them again.
After the fifth or sixth time a screw refused to cooperate, my hubby's face was an alarming shade of red and Mal and I were desperately avoiding eye contact with each other.
He fought and wrestled with that latch for over fifteen minutes before finally bullying every reluctant screw into place. The latch was on. He slid it closed and smiled in satisfaction as it locked firmly into place.
Mal's weapons were safe.
My boys were safe.
My hubby felt triumph that something had finally gone right.
He grabbed the closet doors and pulled them, just to be sure.
They swung open. Completely.
With both doors opening outward, the latch worked as well as, say, cotton candy.
Mal and I lost it. We laughed til we cried. My hubby just laid down his drill and walked away. (He was able to laugh later - after the second cake came out perfect and he could see his day wasn't a total disaster.)