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© Digital Vision

© Digital Vision

THE

Buck

Stops Here

by G. Ron Darbee

I had an uneasy feeling

whenever I thought of the attic.

I made a decision to man-up

and resolve the problem.

© Digital Vision

“The attic? You want me to clean out the attic?” I asked, certain I’d misunderstood my wife’s request. “There’s enough dust up there to clog my nasal passages for life, and the spiders are ginormous! Not that I’m afraid.” I shuddered involuntarily.

“Ginormous? Is that even a word?”

“You wouldn’t ask that if you’d seen the attic spiders,” I said, shuddering again. “Not that I’m afraid.”

“Well, we need to clean out the extra bedroom if we’re going to make room for my sister to visit, and there isn’t space for anything else in the attic.”

“So, if I’m following the logic,” I said, “my incentive here is that if I organize the attic and clear out the extra bedroom, your sister will come to visit for an extended period of time?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what it means. Is there something you’re trying to say?”

“Actually, I’d rather brave the spiders,” I said. “Not that I’m afraid.”

holding on. Fifteen minutes later, dressed in coveralls and carrying a fly swatter, I ascended the attic stairs and climbed into the single square foot of space not occupied by the remnants of my life as a discernible collector. I surveyed my holdings with great satisfaction and possibly a bit of pride.