New Link
.
I added a link to amnesty international's diamond page. I hope it doesn't freak out my readers and have newly-engaged women run screaming from my page. There's only a 20% chance that your diamond is connected with terrorism or death. You shouldn't stop wearing it; you should pressure your jeweler to buy ethically. If blood diamond stories really move you, you could write your congressman or representative. Or you could find a good gemologist and have them identify the geographic locality of a diamond you want to buy.

I'm not anti-diamond. I'm anti-greed. Whenever a thing is disproportionately valued, people die. Ok, that's my rant.

And The Good News
.
Sunday was the CBC welcome mass and reception. L recently had another growth spurt, so we stopped off on the way to mass and bought him a nice button down shirt. Mass was in the cafeteria, in order to accommodate the 280 incoming students and their parents.

Cool point #1: there were about 840 people in the cafeteria, and we could all hear each other. The sound baffling is awesome. L's gradeschool cafeteria is deafening with 100 people talking.

Cool point #2: When a teacher called for quiet, you could hear a pin drop. That never happens at L's gradeschool.

Cool point #3: After the mass, an assistant principal made a speech. He talked about family, and how proud he is of these new additions to the CBC family. That meant children and parents alike, and I really felt like I was adding to my family. -Without the dysfunction, of course. And then he ended his speech with

Cool point #4: The neatest thing I've ever seen. Made me weepy, it did.
He said that he believed in these boys, each and every one of them. He believed that they would graduate, go on to college, and live happy and successful lives. (And his tone said successful, as in whatever you incoming Freshmen feel is successful. It wasn't about a dollar amount, it was about being complete in everything you do.)
To show just how much he and the rest of CBC believes in the class of '09, the senior class would be giving them a gift.
And (sniff) the seniors came out and gave the class of '09 their tassels. (sniff) Each senior gave one student a shiny purple tassel to wear four years hence, when they get to add a gold colored 2009 on graduation day. (weep)

I was not the only parent with wet eyes.

Then we went to the reception and L promptly glued himself to the wall until we told him we weren't leaving unless he met at least one boy. L found another wallflower and they started talking. Then he talked briefly with two other boys, who's grandma hugged us all before they left. It was nice

Before we left the school, we stopped off at the Cadet store. (CBC used to be a military school, so their mascot is the CBC Cadet) L picked a jacket and a baseball hat, and had perma-grin for the rest of the day.

I haven't seen that kind of joy on his face in a long time. I've seen him happy loads of times, but it's been a while since I've seen him shining like that.

So, Achromic... When you ask me, "Why CBC?" That's why. (grin) It's his home. And it's been waiting for him for 14 years.

Sigh
.
So I'm jobless.
A waitress who had quit returned, and really -who would you choose? Someone already trained and familiar with the menu, or a new girl? They wisely chose the old waitress.

I'm hurt that they didn't keep me. I'm angry that they asked my friend and former boss to give me the news, and I'm sad that I don't have income.

Yet I'm relieved too. I never wanted a job where I'd be on my feet for so long. While I was working (for 3 whole days) I made it a good thing. I managed to turn my mind away from the damage I'd be doing to my body, and concentrated instead on the joy of doing a job well. The day I started working, my hubby reminded me that he'd promised me I would never have to wait tables again. He made that promise after we gave our daughter up for adoption. So I'm actually relieved that I was fired.

The Ins and Outs, Ups and Downs
.
The restaurant where I work is a multi-level building. As a customer, I used to joke that the place started out as a foyer, and grew in fits and spurts. It starts off great with nice wide doors and plenty of open space to turn a wheelchair. The main dining room is fantastic -you'll never have to worry about bumping chairs with your neighbor. This is great for a waitress carrying 8 dishes on a platter.
Come to think of it, the entire place is spacious, well planned and easy to work in.
But the stairs, oh lord the stairs. There's a little step up to the waitress station, and a little step up to the sinks. There's a half step down to the utensils storage area and a flight of stairs to the sub-basement. And finally, there are several steps down to the basement bar. The upstairs bar is being renovated, and opens on Sunday.
I visit the sub-basement several times a day, and it's like being in a white and steel funhouse. Because the sub-basement has a lot of rooms and storage areas. I still haven't been in all of them. Each one has a different height above sea level. The floor gently rises and falls from area to area, and no doorway is directly aligned with another. It's fun. And I'm really getting my exercise. My whole backside hurts from this new work out. Seriously. I have pain from mid back to ankles. I haven't felt like this since I did ballet, except ballet made my front muscles sore too.
Here's the funny thing. I feel good!
I'm stiff and sore and tired, but for the first time in years I feel healthy. I feel young. I'm so happy that my body can do what I ask of it. I can walk the stairs. I can carry heavy things. I can! Oh, it feels so good!

Busy
.
Yesterday was slow at work. Except for a large reserved party, it wasn't too bad. And I fell behind anyway. I suppose it has something to do with not waitressing in 12 years. I know I'll speed up, and I know I'll understand all the little foibles of my job soon. But I really expected that I'd go in and be perfect on my first day.
What?
Are you laughing?

I didn't think it was such an unreasonable expectation.

Anyway, today begins my actual training (yay!) and I need to be there in 15 minutes.
Oh, and I made $51.20 in tips yesterday.

Fate Is Funny That Way
.
So I started moving laundry, and the phone rang. It was my friend and former boss from The Mudd Room. (best job ever)
She started a new job a week or so ago, and yesterday somebody quit. They just walked out without telling anyone. Up and left, with customers wondering where their waitress had gone to. I went in, filled out the requisite paperwork, and learned my duties. Today I'm on my own. Well, mostly. The bartender is coming in early to help me get started, and my former boss is doing the official training on Friday. Yesterday there were about 40 tickets during the 2 hour lunch rush. I can so handle this. :)

I talked with the owner about my arthritis, and how it limits me. I made it clear that I would not work weekends or nights under any circumstances. He was totally understanding.

I'm packing a goody basket fo myself. I'm bringing migraine miracle for injuries, comfrey oil for my knees, and shea butter for my hands. (bleach water is harsh)

Looks like the laundry will have to wait until this weekend. And thank you for all the comments. The job will get done!

A Really Big Job
.
I have laundry issues. I can't seem to throw out old clothes. I have t-shirts from 1988. I have a pair of shorts from 1986, for gods sake! I'm not 16 anymore, do I really need a pair of shorts with tropical fish on them? Heck no! So today I'm tackling my clothing. Every stitch of fabric in the house is going into the massage room, and I'm going to sort it. I may even post embarrassing pictures when I'm done. You know, just to remind myself that clothing can get out of control.

If you'd like to help, you can leave supportive comments. You know, tell me that there is no armageddon, so I don't need a stash of emergency clothes.

Makin' The Rounds
.
Tales of the proposal seem to be making the blog rounds. Probably has something to do with Valentines Day. And it occurred to me that I haven't written about the Hubby-Man proposing to me. So here's part one:

My hubby is amazing in the romance department. He gave me a rose on our first date. (Friday, Feb. 13th) The next day he sent me a valentines card. One date, and he sent me a card! It was just the right mix of silly and mushy, expressing an interest instead of endless devotion. Much like the non-red rose he gave me. It was thoughtful and romantic without being over the top. And I didn't know how to cope with it. I didn't know how to accept his simple gifts. I felt unworthy. A month later I broke up with him.
I ran into him at a party and fell for him all over again. We dated briefly, and I dumped him. We almost dated a third time, but I screwed that up by letting my friend mangle some pictures he had of me. I mean, when someone dumps you, you're supposed to mangle the pictures, right? You're supposed to scribble all over their faces, tear the photos to shreds, burn them in a mini bonfire and listen to depressing heavy-metal music. Crying is optional. Then you're supposed to drink half a bottle of vodka. That's just the way it's done. But the Hubby-Man didn't do any of that. He put the pictures away and moved on. When it looked like we might get back together, he dragged the pics out and showed them to me in an attempt to make me see my own value. So I let my friend wreck the pictures.
The Hubby-Man was really hurt by that. And I wanted him to hurt.(yeah, fucked up much?)
It's a guilt I'll carry to my grave.
And so, I dated a string of losers while working on my self-esteem. I had thrown away a perfectly good man, and I knew it. I vowed that if another perfectly good man came into my life, I suck it up and let him love me. I met a few almost good men. But none of them fulfilled me the way the Hubby-Man had. There was love, and generally passion too; but it was incomplete. I believed the Hubby-Man had moved on. Friends told me he'd joined the Army, and I figured that was that.
And then he called.

I was in the kitchen with my almost-good-enough-to-marry boyfriend. The one I was convinced was my soul mate. The one who loved me with a devotion that rivaled the Hubby-man himself. The one who I loved unconditionally, until the phone rang.
Upon hearing his voice, the room faded out. My boyfriend ceased to exist. It was just me and the Hubby-Man, connected by electrons in a phone line.
Maybe this time I was good enough. After all, how often does opportunity knock? In my case, it knocks 4 times.

Makin' The Rounds Part Two
.
The Hubby-Man and I dated cautiously for 8 months. I kept expecting him to break up with me in some horrendously humiliating fashion, like at a surprise party in front of all my friends. I'd broken his heart repeatedly, why would he give me another chance? I struggled between loving him with all my soul, and guarding myself against his revenge. Because I would want revenge.

All the Hubby-Man wanted was to spend the rest of his life with me. (sniff.) We eventually discussed marriage, and I had this awful image of walking down an aisle in an overpriced white dress only to have him say, "Psyche!" instead of "I do."
I wanted a sapphire engagement ring, but I also wanted men to understand that I was engaged, so we shopped for diamonds. This was one of the many, many things the Hubby-Man did right. We browsed the stores until he clearly understood what I wanted, and then he wouldn't tell me anything about what he was making payments on. This is the best kind of surprise.
We had a little conflict over size. Men are told to spend 2 month's salary, which would have bought a $3200 ring. That's a lot of diamond. And I (still) wear a size 4. That's a tiny finger. I wanted a quarter carat stone. Simple, elegant, cheap. The Hubby-Man wanted the biggest, most sparkly rock he could afford, so that the whole world would know how much he valued me. He wanted to give me the Hope Diamond, and dress me in the Crown Jewels of every country. I knew this and adored him for it, but I still wanted the tiniest stone in the world. I thought a tenth of a carat would be nice, and a quarter carat was the absolute largest I'd accept. I pleaded with him not to go overboard, telling him I'd rather have a down payment on a house.
All he would say was, "I've chosen your ring, and you'll have to wait a few months."
Five weeks later, we went to see George Carlin at Westport. The Hubby-Man had scored front row tickets.
We were standing in the crowd, waiting to go inside, when he dropped the bomb on me.
I had almost forgotten my fears of revenge, but the little critic in my head was saying, "If he's going to do it, he'll do it tonight. He'll dump you at Westport in front of a famous comedian, and you'll have to walk home in the most uncomfortable heels you own. It's the perfect revenge."
So I'm nervous. And the Hubby-Man seems tense too. Here we are in a crowd of well to-do people, being bumped constantly; and he pulls a box out of his pocket.
Ever observant, I noticed the ring box and thought, "What's he doing? It's too crowded to get down on one knee!"
Now, he and I have differing versions of what happened next. He firmly believes that he opened the box in front of me and asked me if I would marry him. I believe just as firmly that he opened the box and held it out to one side where anybody could steal it, and asked me to marry him. Either way, my response was:

"You're joking, right?"

Immediately followed by, "Yes! I mean yes!" while I tried to simultaneously hug him to death, get the box out of the reach of well to-do thieves, and stand back enough to let him put the ring on my finger.
The rest is kind of blurry. Maybe because I was teary-eyed. There was a point where someone jammed their elbow into my back... There was a point where he was apologizing for buying a bigger diamond than I'd wanted... The ring was definitely in the box at the time... And there was a point where I was wearing the ring and learned that I needed a second pair of eyes in order to gaze adoringly at my fiancee and gaze in wonder at my ring at the same time.

And you know what?
In a crowd of over 300 people; not one person turned to look, or offer their congratulations. They were completely oblivious.
And you know what else?
15 years later, he still gives me roses.

I really, really, really love him with all my being.

Tragedy

The larger Zathros died today. :(
The Hubby-Man accidentally disturbed the hibernation of a pair of baby garter snakes last fall, so we brought them inside for the winter. They might have been able to survive outdoors, but they were just babies. They didn't have much fat. (yes, snakes can get fat)
The Hubby-Man felt responsible for their well-being; we had an extra cage; we made them a home indoors. We named them Zathros, since they were identical when we brought them inside. It's a Babylon 5 reference. Anyway, the aptly named Hunter (cat) found the cage with "living string" in it. He would spend hours sitting next to the cage, watching the little grey snakes go about their grey snakey business. He can't get into the cage, and the snakes can't get out, so we weren't too worried.
But today, Hunter knocked over the cage. The weighted water bowl -weighted so it doesn't tip when a snake rubs against it to shed- tipped over, crushing Zathros' little baby ribs.
It's a sad day in the Dances In Dragon house... Fortunately, it's warm today and I can bury Zathros outside.

Solitude

That's what the Hubby-Man is giving me for valentines day -solitude. The poor guy has to install a ton of stuff down at Lake Of The Ozarks, and it's going to take 2 days. When he told me about it on Friday, it didn't cross my mind that he'd be gone for the big V. Instead I though how much I'd miss him, but we both know that he does this a few times a year. It's part of the job. And he loves his job.

I will miss him. I've grown accustomed to his face. :D

Ah, Weather
.
The alarm went off at 6:40 this morning, just like it does 5 days a week. I Woke, but couldn't stretch out because there was a mass of cats laying on and around my legs. They had been stressed and demanding cuddles throughout the day yesterday. I had no idea why. (we got a 4.0 quake this morning, that's why)
Anyway, at 6:40 a.m. the quake hadn't happened, thus every cat in the house was laying on me.
I tried to nudge them off, but my knees didn't seem to want to bend. Like my leg muscles had forgotten how to pull my legs straight, or something. I hate mornings like that.
I hit the snooze button a few times, hoping my legs would remember how to move. each time the alarm went off (BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!), I would see little cat ears prick up; followed by little cat eyes -peering over my hip. Not that they could be bothered to, I dunno... GET OFF ME, perhaps?
At 7:10, I decided I had to get up. My legs still weren't responding; but my nice, strong tummy muscles worked fine, and pulled me into a sitting position.
All 3 cats stood up, yawning and stretching as if the alarm hadn't been going off every 9 minutes. Yeah right. You aren't fooling anybody, you damnable furballs.
I dropped my legs off the side of the bed and made a few whimpering noises -just in case my hubby was awake enough to take pity on me. The hubby-man acknowledged my pain with a grunt, but slept on. Ah, well. It was worth a shot.
I stood up (by sheer willpower alone, I think) and miraculously, my legs remembered to hold my weight.
Amazing!
Of course, now that I was standing, I didn't want to sit down. So I fed the cats, checked their water (and the water for the reptiles, and while I was at it I may as well refill the fountain too), knocked on L's door to wake him, took a potty break, knocked a second time, tossed him some clean gym clothes, and finally, turned on the morning news. It was 7:22.

The morning news has a temperature thingy in the corner. I looked at the displayed temp and thought, "I should have known." After all, wasn't I just saying to Dr. Pozzi that my legs don't work right below 20 degrees? It was 19 degrees outside. Fancy that. :)
The bit I don't understand is this:
It's 74 degrees in the house all winter long. It's not like it's cold, or anything. So why, when in the house mind you, why don't my legs work when the outside temperature is 20 or lower?

It's a scientific mystery.

Second Phone Line?
My son. Who just turned 14 last week. Is talking on the phone. For the first time ever, he called a friend just to chat!
He's so shy, that for years dialing the phone made him nervous; and he wouldn't call people unless it was to ask if they could play.
But now he's talking on the phone just to talk.

I'm so proud.


And I have an update on the Van De Graaff generator. He scored a 90% because he forgot to write a title page for his report. Everything else was a perfect score.
Score!

The Letter, Oh My God The Letter

Yesterday, L informed us the the mailman had just passed by our window, so the hubby-man said, "Hey L, why don't you check and see if there's a letter from CBC?" He's been saying this every day since Wednesday.
L checked the mail and came back with a letter addressed to him. It was from CBC. He had ripped the end off the envelope, but he wouldn't check inside. He handed it to me instead. I tried to give it back to him, saying, "Wouldn't you like to read it first?"
He plastered his hands to his sides, shook his head and said casually, "Nah." Like it was no big deal. I pretended not to notice his body language, which was totally belying his casualness, and pulled the papers out of the envelope.
The hubby-man was sitting next to me. We both saw the words at the top of the letter, and in unison we said, "Read it, L!"
My son said, "huh?". He was so scared, that he hadn't looked when I open the letter.
The first line was telling him the date of his placment test, and right beneath it, in big bold font was, "Welcome to CBC" and such.
L skimmed the first line and said, "It says test?"
The hubby-man and I said (in unison again) "No! The next line!"
L said, "Oh!" pause "OH!", and then I couldn't see anything because my eyes were filled with happy tears.

So thank you, to all of you who hoped and prayed with me. Thank you for supporting a child you've never met. Thank you for thinking of us. I really appreciate it.

Is This Fantastic, Or What?
.

Yes, there it is in all it's glory... L's Van de Graaff generator, ready for the science fair. Last night the blue pulley suffered catostrophic failure in the midst of experiment #3. Instead of throwing packing peanuts high in the air, it threw rubber bands all over the room. But for about 10 minutes, it worked! We got a fabulous -once in a lifetime type- shot of an aluminium cake pan flying off the generator dome. Ah, the wonders of electrostatic repulsion. :)
L added a bit to his report about the pulley failure, and what he thinks went wrong.
His VDG is on display until Sunday. After it comes home, we'll build a better pulley and try it again.

L was worried about bringing a broken project to the fair, and we talked about it. The hubby-man and I both pointed out that failed experiments are just as valuable as successful ones. Sometimes they're more valuable, considering what you learn when experiments don't go as expected.

All in all, I view the generator project as a roaring success. It worked long enough to conduct experiments. L learned a lot in the building of it. And now he has an electrostatic generator to call his very own. Once we get it working again, he wants to try to ceate St. Elmo's fire. The hubby-man is really looking forward to that one, and so is L.

The Mystery Of The Bloody Kitchen
.
I walked into the kitchen to make some coffee, and there was red gel on the cooler (we're thawing the freezer) and red gel on the floor. Smears of red gel, just the size of a cat's paw, all over the place. I thought, "What the hell did the cats get into now?" And immediately after that, I thought, "That's blood."
One of my cats was bleeding! Oh My God! This is a lot of blood, too.
I started searching for the cats. The bloody pawprints trailed out of kitchen, down the hall and into the living room. Friday was lounging in the hallway; no blood on her feet. One down, two to go... Moonshadow was laying on the carpet in the living room; her feet were clean too. Which left Hunter. He was somewhere in the living room, but where? The bloody tracks disappeared at the dark green area rug. He could be hiding under the sofa, perhaps? I called softly, "Hunter. Hunter-buddy..."
And a pair of amber eyes appeared in a corner of the sofa. He had been casually sleeping on our black couch, so of course I didn't see him. Being black himself, he blends right in.
I sat down next to him and checked his paws. Yes, there it was. His back right paw liked like raw meat. One of his paw pads was covered in thick red goo.
He had made not a peep when he walked past me. Not one hint that he might be suffering. The little snot.
I called the vet and told them about the blood all over my kitchen, and the injured paw. It went something like this:
vet: "Watson Veterinary Clinic, can you hold please?"
me: "Sure" Doh! I should have said no!
vet (2 seconds later): "Thank you for holding."
me: "Hi. My cat is bleeding. Can I bring him in? I mean, he did something to his paw, and there's blood all over the kitchen, it looks pretty bad, do you have any openings today?"
vet: "Yes. We can see you as soon as you arrive. Can you be here by a quarter to eleven?"
me: "Yes. Thank you so much!"

I grabbed the cat carrier and set it on the floor with the door open. Then I snagged Hunter and put him on the floor in front of the carrier, nudging Friday's curious head out of the way with my foot. Hunter went right into the carrier, and 20 minutes later he was having his badly sliced up paw pad glued back together. The vet had decided on skin glue rather than stitches (stitches!) because a paw is difficult to sew.
Hunter was frightened but quiet the while time. He was frightened but quiet the whole ride home. He left the cat carrier with his tail in the air, walked into the bloody kitchen and promptly ripped his foot open again.
So I called the vet again and discovered that I can't get back there before they close for lunch. Dammit!
I tried to wrap his paw in gauze and got claw holes in my legs and shoulder for my trouble.
I still don't know what he cut himself on. I checked the knife block and the dish drainer, heck, I checked the whole sink. There's nothing he could have cut his foot with. I mean nothing.
So I'm pondering the mystery, and blogging the story while I wait for the vets to finish their lunch. (sigh)
Yes, I'm worried. And yes, he's still bleeding. He just won't leave his foot alone. He doesn't understand that he needs to quit messing with it and let it scab over.
My poor kitty.

*update*
Hunter's foot has stopped bleeding. I don't want to look at it yet, because I don't want to draw his attention back there. I called the vet again and asked If I should bring him back or not. She said that if he's not bleeding, then he's fine. I don't have to stress him out with another visit.

The Doctor's Appointment
.
Yes, two posts in one day. I'm a bad woman. But I have to share this with somebody and all my friends are not home. So it goes in my blog. :)

I went to the doctor today to ask about my knees. Because it's Winter and they hurt. All the time. So I went to the doctor, and you know, they always weigh you. I guess they need to see if there's a sudden weight loss or gain. It might be indicative of something.
Anyway, I stepped on the scale; and the nurse slid the bar to 150 while I was chanting, "Come on 145. 145, come on." Because Dr. Pozzi's scale always weighs heavier than my mom's scale, which said I was 140 yesterday.
.
.
.
134!
Woot! I am one pound under my goal weight. I got so excited. Heck, I'm still excited. Yay!

Birthdays
.
Yesterday, L turned 14 years old. Wow.
And he had "a really sucky birthday". Poor kid. Only one person at school remembered his birthday. His grandma came with me to pick him up, and she spent the ride home retelling her version of his birth. Not exactly what a 14 year old wants to hear. He didn't get piles of presents, either. ('Cause, you know...the bills are paid, but there was nothing left over)
So his birthday was a bummer. However. His birthafternoon was much better. I took him to Hollywood Video and let him rent a game and the movie Alien Vs. Predator. He's really getting into the sci-fi monster movies now. I also had him choose what he wanted for dinner. He chose White Castles. (bleah)
Later that night, we put together all the pieces of the Van DeGraaf generator. And it looks good. So his birthday ended on an up note. And today, we might get snow! Natures' belated gift to my son.

On a side birthday note; My hubby's b-day is later this month. He didn't want me to spend money on a gift. And I didn't. I found him gifts for free!
My mom is a real estate agent, and her broker just bought a house to fix up. It still holds a lot of items from the previous owner. So mom's broker asked the agents in the office to go to the house and take anything they wanted.
Knowing how my hubby loves kitsch, mom invited me to come too. I found a great sunburst clock, and a radio that's so old it uses vacuum tubes! And it still works!
I put the gifts in a box, tied it shut with yarn, and gave it to my hubby last night.
He said, in a happy/sad sort of way, "I didn't want you to spend anything on my birthday."
I didn't say anything, so then he said, "Did you not spend money?..."
So I laughed and said, "No. I didn't buy what's in the box. Just open it so I can get the box out of the living room."
He opened the box and said, "You got me a blanket!" (because I'd wrapped the radio in a blanket)And we both laughed. He then pulled off the blanket and tried to sound impressed about the radio. "Wooow... It's a radio..." I knew he was wondering why I'd gotten him a retro radio that was missing a knob. (because the radio looks practically new)
He realized there was more, so he dug through the packaging in the box and exclaimed, "WOW!"
He yanked the clock out of the box, said "COOL!" and proceeded to look for a place to hang it. And then he paused and looked closely at it. I said, "It doesn't have the key to wind it anymore, but..." Just as he figured out how to flip open the glass cover and wind the clock. I love gifts like that.
I didn't want to spoil his fun, so I held my tongue while he examined it and told me all the neat features of his new (old) clock. When he was all done there, he picked up the radio again. I'd chosen so well with the clock, maybe there was something interesting about the radio?
I burst out, "Lookit the back! It's got tubes!"
Then he understood. I didn't get him a radio because he could use another radio. I got it because it's old electronics, and old electronics make him happy.
All in all, it was a good day.

Woot! Woot! Woot! Woot!

Who's da mom? I'm da mom! Oh yeah!
I went shopping and bought 3 steel mixing bowls, 9 alumimium pie pans, desoldering braid, sheet metal, rubber cement and pvc cement. Yes!
Now L has all the bits he needs to finish his Van Degraaf generator.
shhh...
This part is secret, that's why I'm putting it on my public blog... Don't tell, ok?
I'm going to cut the metal for L. Even though he's supposed to do it all himself. We're running out of time, and I can do it in 10 minutes with one of my diamond bits.
Do you think it's funny that I'll trust him with a soldering gun or a torch, but I don't want him to use my diamond bit?

(Arrgh! I own diamonds! In my cutting tools! Dammit, dammit, dammit.)