Ottoman Empire

My Beautiful Bride and I were recently at the Garvey Ranch (Or is it the Henny Penny/Too Little Ranch?) and were enjoying some great family time with her parents discussing the joys of raising teenage girls, and the prospect of having yet another small boy child around the house when my bride propped her feet up on the foot stool in front of the couch for some well deserved rest. After about 5 minutes of this position, my Sweet angelic faced Darlin told me that she wanted an Ottoman. Now I admit, the first thought that ran through my pitiful mind was "Why on earth does she want a Turkish native?", but was put at rest when she explained to me that an ottoman (lowercase "O", apparently) was the footrest that my size ten Ariat ropers were resting on. As always, I told this wonderful woman of mine that she could have anything she wanted (except the Turkish native) and THAT was when I learned not only was I going to assist her in obtaining the footrest, but  I was going to build it with my own two hands...

Now to some men, the thought of any sort of domestic labor that is suggested by their wives brings about moans and groans of despair, and thoughts of all the past season's football highlights that they would miss on the Tee-Vee, but not me. It meant I get to create; to turn raw lumber into a useful piece of household furniture for us and our progeny to enjoy for generations to come. So off to my favorite hardware store to purchase the needed supplies (It just so happened that Lowe's sent me a $50 gift card for a recent purchase...It was meant to be!) and then returned home. The next two days were spent turning 1x3's into sawdust that covered the garage in a fine...well, dust, followed by glues and screws and a few minor adjustments. The result was a functioning footrest with functional storage!

So to my Darlin..here's your footrest. Please don't let the Ottoman's use it. I hear they're almost as messy as teenage girls...


Until next time,