Stupid Camper Top

Several months ago Flamingo Joe bought a camper top for his dad's pickup truck. Flamingo Joe has been driving the truck since his dad is now in Idaho and doesn't need to be driving a pickup truck around (or any other motorized vehicle, for that matter -- the only reason he managed not to kill anyone with his truck in the last four or five years is because, though he drove like a texting teenager, the speedometer never got above 35 -- so when he swerved and hit the curb, instead of jumping the curb and hitting pedestrians on the sidewalk, the car just . . . stopped).

The thing about FJ and the camper top is that FJ didn't leave it on the truck for very long (a few weeks, maybe) before he took it off and the game of Musical Camper Top began. In this game, I am always the loser. Here's how it starts:

FJ: [yelling for me at the front door] "HEY FROLICKING FLAMINGO (okay, he doesn't really call me that at home -- or anywhere else), CAN YOU COME OUT HERE AND HELP ME FOR A SECOND?"

Me: [feeling guilty that FJ is outside doing something really important and my Wifey Sense had not kicked in so that I knew already to be out there helping him (I'm beginning to think the Wifey Sense is not really a sense at all)] "BE RIGHT THERE!" [rushing around getting shoes on, (possibly pants, depending on the day), running downstairs so as not to keep him waiting].

Then when I get outside, he says: "Can you help me move this?" He's standing beside the camper top, which is propped up against the house -- or sitting on top of a water tank -- or propped up against the other side of the house.

And I think, "Dang. It. He got me AGAIN!" Because he has pulled this little trick on me at least three times already -- calling me outside without telling me why, making me feel all needed and wanted, and then making me lift that stupid, excruciatingly awkward, abominably heavy camper top and move it to its new location. But that's not the worst part -- the worst part is having to set it down. There are no handles -- so no matter how you do it, your fingers get crushed.

I hate that camper top so much I couldn't even bear to post a picture of it.

I'm not doing it again. The last time we moved it, it ended up on the back of the truck and that's where it's going to stay until Casey is tall enough to lift it or Grandma bulks up a little.