This past Christmas, my wife and grandfather went in together to buy me an air compressor – ah, the joy of Yuletide tools. Can there be any greater joy than a stocking filled with casehardened steel? I think not.
For my wife, I’m sure the reason she got me the compressor was because I’ve been puling like a snotty-nosed 5-year-old that I need an air compressor, “Mommy, all my friends have 2-stage, 100-gallon air compressors…pleeease can I have one, pleeeeease…”
