My brother has rusty nuts. We are so close that I know these kinds of intimate details about him.
My aunt arrived Sunday from Austria. After bringing her home from the Philadelphia airport, we sat around the dining room table having snacks and drinks and just chatting.
My father closed the sliding glass door behind him.
My sister-in-law asked, “How does your door slide so smoothly and quietly?”
My mother, in her usual helpful manner said, “You must clean the runners every once in a while.”
As we always do and to my mother’s utter chagrin, we ignored her sage advice.
My sister-in-law said, “Stan* (my brother) won’t let me use WD-40 on the door.”
“WD-40 will just make the runners gummy and sticky,” says I. I know about these things. I’m so wise and learned.
“You need to use graphite,” my father tells her. “It’s good for loosening things, especially rusty nuts.”
I’m sure you know the rest of the story.
*Not his real name, because I don’t want him to kick my ass.