We have these rocker/glider/thingie chairs in the living room. MW definitely wanted these. Funny thing, though - he usually ends up on the sofa and I end up in one of the rocker/glider/thingie chairs. I'm not complaining, though. They are not the overly massive chairs with a chair equivalent of a steroid addiction. This works well for my...hmm, shall we say cozy?...living room. And, truly, I do love to rock. And rock. And rock some more.
So, yesterday morning as I was rockin' away I kept hearing my precious rocker/glider/thingie chair do something that affected me pretty much like long, hard nails slowly and painfully being pulled down the deep, dark expanse of a chalk board. EEEEEEEK...EEEEEEEEK...EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK! I could not stand it any longer. I had to do something. Anything. I mean, c'mon, sitting there and NOT rocking was NOT an option! Even if I decided not to rock I was just going to do it anyway. It's kind of like breathing. You can decide NOT to breathe. You can hold your breath. But...eventually you're going to pass out from all the not breathing what not. And as soon as you do - guess what you're going to do again. Yes, you ARE the sharpest knife in the drawer! Breathe. You will breathe just as soon as you pass out from all of your NOT breathing. That's how it is with me and rocking. I know I'm just going to do it anyway. So, why should I even try to kid myself by thinking that I can actually sit in my rocker/glider/thingie chair like a good little girl and not rock? I am a hopeless rocker. I admit it. I rock.
With this in mind - I CAN'T STAND all the screeching that is making my blood curdle. I know we have WD-40. I know it's in the garage. The garage is not attached to the house. It's 5 am. I am NOT, I repeat NOT going to go outside into the 5 am, sun still sleeping, make me pee my pants 'cause it's so cold air. So, I have to get creative. Let's just say me and my rocker/glider/thingie chair had a meeting with a Q-TIP and jar of Vaseline. Problem solved.