I'm the guy you read about in all those women's
magazines. When things break around the house, I look for someone to blame and go
back to sleep. If I wanted to spend my time on household repairs, I'd gain two
hundred pounds, pull my pants down below my waist, and change my name to Bubba.
A lot of men are
handy around the house. They have enough tools to build a space shuttle, a miniature
hardware store in the garage, and their flashlights always have fresh batteries. I
have enough tools to build a cheeseburger, and I haven't seen my flashlight since
1982. When something in our house breaks, it's going to stay that way for awhile.
Plumbing repairs
are the worst. I'd rather get another vasectomy. In twenty years of marriage,
only once has the clog actually been in the trap beneath the sink. Every other time,
I've had to go fishing.
The worst part is
when you hook whatever it is that's clogging the pipe and realize you have absolutely no
idea what you're about to pull out. This is especially bad if you're working south
of the toilet.
My major problem
with household repairs is the fact that I will have to do this again. This is
especially true of plumbing.
A few months ago,
our drains were running slow. I ran a coat hanger into the trap which, as I quickly
found out, was badly rusted. All the water ended up under the sink.
This signaled the first of several requisite trips to the hardware store. I got
smart and bought two traps, so now I have a spare. Like I'll ever find it again.
After I installed
the new trap and ran water, I realized that it didn't come with a seal. Back to the
hardware store. What size pipe do I have? I bought a dozen of each size, then
threw away all the extras.
Naturally the sink
filled up again. After I poured six gallons of muriatic acid down the drain, I found
a leak in the basement, directly above my wood shop. Eventually, the acid ate
through the clog, and the drain began working … for exactly six hours.
My other problem
with household repairs is the female factor. This is where the woman's domestic
instinct kicks in about the time you've wedged yourself in under the bathroom sink.
"You're not
going to make a mess are you?" Everything you just flushed down the toilet is
backing up into the bathtub. No, I won't make a mess.
"I wish you
wouldn't smoke in here." What, and cover up the smell of raw sewage?
"I hope you're
planning to take a shower when you're done." Is it Friday already?
We just got a water
bill that's higher than my truck payment, caused by a leaky toilet. That and a
teenage daughter who thinks water is free. So I went to the basement, got my pipe
wrench, and fixed the kid. Now all I need to do is install a new toilet.
Better yet, I think I'll call Bubba.