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GAL FRIDAY: Of wood and water

Veoma Ali

GAL FRIDAY: Of wood and water

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I must have real challenges with wood.
Oh yes, and water. Serious difficulties with wood and water. I could never live in Jamaica, simply because it is the “Land Of Wood And Water”. Yes, folks, that is how bad things are with me. Ready to get into my business?
Unfortunately, I am not the ‘e-book’ kind of reader, like those of you who may prefer an e-paper. I rather feel the paper, inhale the ink and cuddle with a nice hard-covered Dickens, as opposed to a tiny, finger-stroking e-reader.
Herein lies my dilemma and the subsequent wood problem. I recently purchased a bookshelf, which I decided to erect without assistance from the kind crew at the yellow furniture and appliance store. (Sorry, Trish Tannis, I can’t call the name, or it would be free advertising).
The problem began when I realised the instructions were pictograms and not words. You see, I understand English better than art. To me, this was abstract Picasso. After three hours of perspiration, profanity and a bit of pugnaciousness, it was up . . . but how?
In order to move the erection from one end of the room to the other – only six feet – I had to stop and re-screw three times. The wood was so soft; and I seemed to have made the holes too big by introducing a foreign party into the foray: a hammer. I hammered the screws instead of gently screwing them in. I realised what delicate measurements were involved in this process.
Men, I salute you!
Now, you want to know where the “water” part comes in? Imagine this: you had a tough week. Nuff work, stress and then you get two bills in your mailbox, as you reach home. So, you decide to take a nice shower and wash your worries away in some warm water. Upon entering, you soak your body from head to foot and reach for the soap bar while thinking about perhaps going to another one later. You switch off the taps to conserve water, as you are a keen adherent to green rules. You lather and lather until your neighbours can even smell you in the shower. You turn back on the tap, only to realise that the water gone.
Suffice to say, I was desperate. The only water I had was in the ceramic tank; the one shaped like a seat, specifically for sitting. Reader, please don’t judge me. I was a frothy fraught woman. I heard that the water in that tank is clean – perhaps not potable, but at least usable. And so, I used it.
I got a call and had to head out. My car was as clean as I felt, even after bathing with toilet water. Sadly, I had to pass by Redman’s Village to get to my destination. How ironic was this: after a dry spell in my own bathroom, I was completely soaked by the sudden outpouring of a water truck on the road? To make matters worse . . . my windows were down.
Veoma Ali is an author, actor, broadcaster, advertising exec and, most importantly, a karaoke lover.