Window Treatment

Twice a year, my kitchen window and I stage a contest of wills. The sash for this sucker has warped slightly off true and it's just enough to keep the bottom latch from catching. Which means that I can never snap my window fully closed… or if I manage to, it's a bear to get the latch free again. 

So far, I’ve won the skirmishes, but I'm afraid every victory brings me closer to a final defeat. This past fall, the stinkin’ thing was particularly recalcitrant, frustrating me enough that I ended up slamming it home with a degree of reverberating force that warned the window to, “Go Ahead - Make My Day.”

This worked. 

The latch snapped close and stayed snug all winter long.

But now…, it’s spring. 

Spring - with its bright sunny days and climbing temperatures.

Spring - time for the window’s revenge.

It probably wasn’t really a million degrees in my kitchen the other day…, but I was sick with a fever and wracked by coughing - a state that doesn’t require much for hyperbole to set in. Flushed and sweating, baking in the glare of the afternoon sun, I fought valiantly with my window, desperate to gain the upper hand. To no avail. 

Round one went to the window.

Two days later, in somewhat improved health, I tried again. 

I pushed, I pulled, I tugged. 

I smacked, I shook. 

I hung from the check rail, I menaced with a hammer.

Nothing - Round two to the window…

Desperate, I called Tiny Woman and asked if she could lend a set of hands. 

She came over, bringing her husband along for backup. Which was a very good thing because it ended up taking all three of us to manage the necessary mechanics. Two of us huddled in one corner, pushing down on that side with all our might, while Tiny Woman stuck head and fingers between our bodies and manipulated the latch free. YAY! Flushed with victory, we stood around congratulating each other as we shook the blood back into our hands.

And all I could think was, “Good thing no one needs us to change a lightbulb…”

I am definitely not looking forward to fall.