The tale of one good screw.

I may not have mentioned this before, but when I try to play the handyman around my house or apartment, I'm definitely swimming against the tide in my gene pool.

I don't know what it is. Perhaps it's our Greek heritage. Perhaps I'd have better luck crafting plaster of Paris busts of the Greek pantheon and then setting them up outside my house as a shrine to Athena. Maybe I'd be a natural when it comes to herding sheep. I'm certainly not in the league with the goddess Josie, who, in addition to having a mean reputation as the Cleaning Nazi, can also fix your plumbing, rework your electrical circuitry, and also kill a mouse at three o'clock in the morning with only a dustpan in her hand. And topless, to boot.

Whatever the reason, I can at least take some small comfort in knowing that I'm at least one level above the skill set of my father, a man for whom the term "manual dexterity" could just as well be a sexy Hispanic backup dancer in Celene Dion's Vegas show. I remember one time, when I was a kid, one of the pipes in the cellar sprung a leak. Dad's solution was to wrap masking tape around the pipe. He didn't turn the water off or anything else. He just...taped.

I remember the plumber coming in to fix the leak, and my Mom escorting him to the scene of the crime. He kind of smirked and said, "Gee, ma'am, your husband's a real Mr. Fix-It, isn't he?"

My aptitude around the house has really been put to the test with this move to the apartment, and while I'm trying my best, let me tell you...

( Read more... )