The shelves aren’t for the cannery—Vic would never manage to sneak cheap pressboard and veneer past Jacob’s watchful eyes. Jacob’s Uncle Leon, however, is nowhere near as fussy. And since he’s only got one arm, he’ll need help putting together his new treasure.
It’s no surprise to find the instructions baffling and convoluted…but were they always so disturbingly dirty?
This PsyCop interlude is a cute, sexy romp that will delight readers who’ve enjoyed the series through PsyCop #3, Body and Soul.
Happy Birthday to you...
Happy Birthday to you...
Happy Birthday dear Vic...
Happy Birthday to you.
That's right, today is my favourite PsyCop's birthday and
Vic is actually putting up furniture of the flat pack variety, it's the kind of furniture making that is right up his street (the only kind he knows how to assemble, he can wield that doohickey like a pro!) No problemo dude... well, it wouldn't be if he wasn't getting distracted by the filthy instructions.
The furniture may be made of pressboard and veneer, but Vic's still contending with wood.
This short is laugh out loud funny, it really is. Vic is so...Vic, and I couldn't love him more. Putting up furniture is supposed to be awkward, but not in this way. To make matters worse, Jacob's uncle is there, ghostly hand and all. What's a psych to do? The dynamics between Jacob and Vic are perfect and I'd absolutely recommend this to all PsyCops fans. And everyone with a filthy sense of humour.
Excerpt:
Here’s the thing about being in a long term relationship. There’s more involved than just inside jokes and shared mortgages, objectionably healthy things in the fridge, or discarded socks that never find the laundry hamper. Back when a horny, shape-shifting, mirror-shattering entity exploded in Jacob’s apartment and left him with nowhere to sleep that night, I’d suggested he stay at my place. And when we outgrew that place, we found a new one. Together.
That fateful decision didn’t just score me a boyfriend. It earned me a family.
It’s not too big, as families go. Jacob has one sister, and she’s always pissed off about something. Her kid is no gem, either. Both parents are still alive, and grandma too, though I think she’s pushing a hundred fifty. But Jacob’s uncle Leon is the one who shared a special bond with him. He’d taken Jacob to his first concert at age twelve: Weird Al Yankovic. He bought Jacob his first soldering gun. Apparently this was a big thing in late 1970’s Wisconsin. He probably would’ve been the one to teach Jacob to drive stick, too, if his right arm hadn’t been torn off in an industrial accident years before.
I like the guy. I may not have the history Jacob’s got with him, but he’s easy to talk to, and he always acts excited to see me. Missing arm or not, he could count on our help to put together his new furniture. No doubt Jacob’s dad could’ve handled it, but it gave us an excuse to drive up for the weekend without centering our trip around seeing Clayton play soccer or looking at Clayton’s latest science diorama or sitting there uncomfortably while Clayton looks daggers at us. Okay, he only does that to me, not his beloved uncle Jacob—but the point is, I was kinda looking forward to being the youngest guy there in the male bonding session for a change.
Leon greeted us at the door with the standard greeting, asking us how the drive was. The missing arm greeted me with a wave. I nodded at them both while Jacob handled the amicable banalities.
I eased past into the living room while Leon launched into a tale about a certain legendary local speed trap. Even though I’d only seen Leon’s place a few times before, the new remodel startled me with its striking difference. Nothing structural had been changed, but the mishmash of furniture styles was gone. Now there was a theme of sorts. Big, inviting leather couch and chairs, and walls painted various coffee colors, and a sleek flatscreen mounted above the mantel. I thought I’d miss the white walls, but with the monochrome muted palette and lack of clutter, there was a warmth and simplicity to the new setup that I liked. Plus, you gotta hand it to someone willing to remodel at his age. It’s pretty optimistic if you ask me.
The only thing left to handle was putting together the bookshelves. My fingers were itching to tackle the massive stack of cardboard boxes marring the interior wall of the living room and get those cluttery books they contained in some kind of order. My actual preference would be to drop them off at the local Goodwill, but I’ve learned to pick my battles.
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A copy of this story was given in exchange for an honest review.
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