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Decades ago, when we were first married, my new bride naturally assumed that, as the man of the house, I would be able to repair anything that needed to be fixed. (Boy, was she in for a surprise!) Much to her shock and everlasting dismay, she soon realized I was hopelessly ill-suited to tackle that particular responsibility. (Along with countless other responsibilities, but we’ll save those for another day.)
Even more unsettling for my wife was the fact that, even though I’m normally lazy to a fault (her less-than-kind description), I eagerly rise to the challenge of attempting any type of repair work around our house. Much to her bewilderment, I approach each job with bounding enthusiasm, overflowing with bold, fearless confidence in my abilities as a consummate handyman. As you will soon see, it is confidence that is completely unwarranted.
Sadly, my scornful, skeptical spouse does not hesitate to point out that, when it comes to home repairs, I have an irritating knack for making any bad situation worse.
Much worse.
Be that as it may, my wife’s total lack of faith in my skills in no way alters my exuberance for tackling jobs that are completely out of my league.
That is why, when something breaks, the first thing my devious spouse does is hide my toolbox! What kind of person does a thing like that? Obviously, the woman has issues.
And if that wasn’t cruel enough, she actually hides my tools in PLAIN SIGHT, knowing full well that I might not ever find them. After all, I’m a husband – not a superhero. I don’t have X-ray vision.
While I admit I have a gift for turning the occasional small leak into a torrential flood, despite my bride’s passionate entreaties for me to call a professional, I always try to fix it myself. After all, making the effort is what counts. Although some (like my wife) claim that RESULTS matter as well. I suppose everyone has a right to their own opinion, no matter how harebrained it might be.
Fortunately, I find that a “CAN DO” attitude is far more important than actual ability when it comes to developing an unrealistic level of assuredness that cannot be justified by rational thought or logic. In other words, I can hardly wait for the next faucet to start dripping! Fun is always just around the corner.
At this point, a few examples of my past home repair debacles might be worth mentioning.
Last year, the automatic garage door opener broke. After hours of frantic searching, I finally retrieved the toolbox from my bride’s hiding place and scampered up the ladder to repair the motor.
But, unfortunately, I never get to work unsupervised. My spouse always hovers nearby, shouting useless warnings such as, “For God’s sake, turn off the electricity before you touch anything!” Advice that, in hindsight, would have been worth heeding. Because the instant I grabbed an exposed wire, I was blown out of my shoes, landing with a thunderous thud on the concrete floor.
Momentarily stunned and twitching with involuntary muscle spasms from head to toe, I quickly shrugged off my discomfort, put my shoes back on, scurried up the ladder, and got busy… AFTER I TURNED THE POWER OFF. The repair turned out to be relatively simple, and in short order, the job was done. But now, for some strange reason, the door opens and closes every time we flush a toilet. That means when we have my wife’s five-alarm chili, that garage door gets a workout.
A couple of months later, the kitchen sink started leaking, and despite my bride’s desperate pleas for me to call a plumber, I eagerly took matters into my own hands. It was such a simple task; what could possibly go wrong? I finished up in record time, and I couldn’t help but feel justifiably proud of my efforts. I was certain that the sink was fixed – until my spouse suddenly screamed and stormed into the living room from the kitchen, soaking wet, and made what I felt was an unduly harsh remark at the top of her lungs about where I could stick my pipe wrench! Of course, her suggestion was absurd. I’m not a contortionist.
Which brings us to the troubling subject of the ice maker.
Recently, the love of my life slipped up and inadvertently mentioned that the ice maker on the freezer door was not working. Instantly, realizing her mistake, she begged me to call a “service technician,” whatever that is, but her words fell on my huge, deaf ears.
Springing into action, I grabbed my toolbox before she could hide it and raced to the refrigerator. Unfortunately, however, I made yet another critical mistake right off the bat. I failed to turn the water off. Within seconds, a powerful ice-cold stream shot to the ceiling and inundated the kitchen. (I know what you’re thinking. Does he ever learn? I think the answer is obvious.)
Because of my innocent oversight, I was forced to use a 10-year-old frayed mop with a broken handle as well as every towel in the house, including the ones that I found out were “FOR COMPANY ONLY!”, to sop up what seemed like several gallons of chilly liquid that had me sloshing around while my wife had a conniption. (There was certainly nothing wrong with our water pressure!) After a long, soggy 60 minutes, only a dozen or so puddles remained.
Getting back to the job, I soon had parts scattered all over the slippery kitchen floor. As my beleaguered bride continued to watch in (thankfully) silent horror through the doorway, I realized that a lesser man would think that he needed NEW parts to do the job correctly. HA! Ridiculous! The magic is in making something work with whatever you have lying around.
And since, whenever I repair something, I ALWAYS have extra parts left over (which I’m smart enough to save for future endeavors), I have an extensive stockpile of utterly useless odds and ends to choose from.
So, with my uncanny cleverness, I made do with items I had on hand. And in only ten short hours, the ice maker on the freezer door was once again functional!
Now, when I say functional, that does not mean it operates exactly the way it used to.
Of course, it goes without saying that safety is paramount when using any major appliance. So, someone wanting to get ice would be well advised to approach the refrigerator cautiously. Because once activated, the ice cubes are now dispensed with tremendous force, which means they shoot across the kitchen at high velocity with a piercing, high-pitched whistle followed by an earsplitting BANG!!! The explosion of sound rattles the windows and sends our terrified cat hurtling through the pet door, as the resulting pandemonium sends shockwaves of chaos reverberating throughout our home.
Consequently, much to my long-suffering wife’s distress, having a cold drink at our house is not only refreshing, but it also involves a certain amount of excitement!
Marital Madness 