Gene came home today and told me about a Drywall project he’s subbing (is that a word?) for a company who is building for “Some famous ball player.”  Of course my ears perked up on the word famous.  I peppered him with questions that were not intended to be difficult to the average male. 

“What ball player?” 

“Ummm… I’m thinking Joe Paterno.”

“So is it a coach or a player?”

“Ummm… I’m not sure”

“Well is it college or pro-ball?”

“Ummm… I really couldn’t tell you.”

“Is football or baseball or basketball?”

“I forget.”

We have a problem here.  Gene did not receive the gene that requires all men to care fiercely about sports.  Or to care about all things pertaining to sports.  Or sporting events.

This wouldn’t be so bad but a couple weeks ago, THE EXACT SAME THING HAPPENED.  He spent weeks in Philly hanging drywall on “some Phillies players” house.

 Every day, mind you, when he would come home, I would try to extract this player’s name from my husband’s mouth.  I never did find out who the player was.  And it about drove me crazy.  It drove me so crazy that I almost wanted to go with him to the job so I could find out for myself.  

But….lucky me….. one day as I was scrolling through the pictures on my camera, I found out Gene had taken the camera to work.  And I was transported to another time and another place.  Oh the glory that is the drywall industry.  Come with me now…

We are on this road:

 

 

Following this truck:

 

 

Man in rain-spotted review mirror:

Man, look at this huge tank, it’s so…porcelain and white:

 

Maybe it’s a gigantic water heater:

Or maybe an artist’s rendering of an enlarged marshmallow:

Or maybe a holding cell for when giant squid invade earth:

 

Let’s take another one so we can remember it:

Gene asks scissor-lift operator “How do we get out of here?”

Drywall is bad.  Must get home ASAP.

Drywall is bad.   Must stop to Enlist.

You know, you would think they’d at least try to sneak a picture of the famous ball-player…