Goin' to the Home Depot

"I'm an old man, you know. I can't keep helping you move every year," my father says. Sometimes I think he can't wait to grow old. "You need a boyfriend to help you with this stuff. And do better than the last one, you could lift more than he could."

"I tried to bribe someone with a case of beer and showers of manly compliments," I said. "But if that doesn't work out, I can always go down to Home Depot and get a Mexican."

My father chuckles, he knew exactly what I meant. I spoke as if I could go down the aisle and pick one off the shelf and put him in my cart. At the checkout, we'd scoot him over the scanner and then take him home with us.

In reality, you pull into the Home Depot parking lot and take your pick of "migrant workers" standing on every corner in small groups and pay them each $20 to move your furniture. I haven't done it, yet, but my friends have and swear by it.

Go to Home Depot and get a Mexican -- the statement struck me as odd. I'm sure you can also to go Lowes, maybe even a Pike Nursery. Roswell Road will also work. I said it matter-of-factly like it was the easiest thing to do, like it was as simple as taking one of the shelf. The truth is, it is.