Norman is impressed

[u/yankonapc]

The canvas bag of cat food and tinned soup clanked gently against Norman's side as he shuffled back towards his house. He squinted up the street and noticed Margot next door at the top of a ladder, leaning against her bay window. Her husband Michel was handing her a drill from below.

"Oh, well hey. What ya doing up there?" Norman asked, a quaver in his voice at the thought of being that high up a ladder.

"Salut Normaan, ve are repairing ze guttering zat was damaaged over ze winter. 'Oo-ever mounted zees screws in ze eightees was a crétin. Look at zis, Normaan, plat-head screws! Oo does thees? Ze cross-head screw 'as been around since ze fortees!"

Norman blinked stupidly at his neighbour, impressed as usual by her competence with D-I-Y but, also as usual, unable to offer anything of value to the conversation.

"Oh. Er. Are those no good?" plopped out of his mouth.

"Zey probably went in fine, vit te 'Yankee scrudrivaiire, or whatever, but ze brackets are plastique. Zey will fail eventually. Eet es courtois to pay eet forward, n'est pas? But non, zees guys you know." Margot suddenly put on a fairly convincing Cockney accent. "I ain't gonna be round here when it fails, not my problem." So here I am, eenching a twist of metal out of ze wall veet ze plieers because ze slot turned to mush vit te rust. Arrogant! Stubborn!"

"Oh. Er. Yeah, that's no good." Norman agreed. "What are you replacing them with?"

"Pozidriv. Stainless." Margot fished a handful of screws out of her pocket. "Even if ze slates sheeft a bit, you can exert torque on zem from a slight angle."

"Oh, wow. Yeah. You reckon it'll be you changing them out next time?"

"Eef we are steel in zis house ven zees brackets fail..." she glanced at her spouse, who gave her a dubious look. "I veel be eighty-two. So, yes, probably."

"Well okay, you be careful." Norman nodded. "I'm gonna...feed the cat. Good to see you."

"Your gutters look fine, een case you were wondering." Margot gestured down to his bay window. "Good to see you too."

He darted through his front door perhaps a bit faster than was necessary and put his shopping down on the table, trying to quell his ladder-phobic heebie-jeebies. He released a gust of air.

What the heck is a Fozzie Drive?