HGTV? BS!

I’m not a handyman.  I truly wish I was, but it’s just not in my DNA.  I can’t make a straight cut on a 2x4 to save my dog’s life.  If you give me a hammer and a handful of nails, all you’re probably gonna get are bent nails.   And I’m probably gonna get a smashed thumb.  Then everyone within a three block radius is probably gonna get to hear a combination of words they've never heard before. That’s about the only thing I can do as well as a construction worker.

What’s so frustrating is that I have friends who are handy. They can do things like build decks, install windows, repair faucets, replace light fixtures and such. I’m so jealous.   I’m doing good if I put in a new furnace filter with the arrow pointing in the right direction.  

My best friend Richard wired his house - his whole house!  It passed inspection with flying colors.  I have trouble putting batteries in a channel changer. 

I got this ineptness from my father.  He couldn’t tell a flat head screwdriver from a xylophone.  Furthermore, he had no interest in learning. About the only way he would use a screwdriver is if it had a golf grip on the end of it.  

At least I have a desire to learn.  When Richard is doing some type of project, I’m usually his assistant.  That means I watch what he was doing, hold a flashlight,and fetch tools.  A grown up gopher. 

It seems that the home repair gods rarely smile on me. I think they even  like pulling practical jokes.  For example, once when one of my boys somehow got his baseball jersey behind our washer and dryer, I made a hook out of a coat hangar to retrieve it.  I reached back, hooked the shirt, and began pulling it within reach.  Things were going great until the wire touched a tiny gap in the 220 outlet.  I was slammed against the wall and thought I saw Jesus.  My spouse found this hilarious.  

With my lack of carpentry, plumbing, and electrical skills, I’m surprised my wife allows me to work on our little lake house.  But she does.  I think I know why.  It’s old.  It’s rustic.  So any mistake I make somehow adds to the cabin’s quirky ambiance. 

Every now and then I’ll get lucky and do a decent job.  When I built a small deck that lead to our front steps, my wife looked at it, nodded appreciatively, and said,

“Wow!  It’s so good it doesn’t look like you did it.”   

That’s a self esteem builder.  It ranks right up there with “you don’t sweat much for a fat woman.”

These home improvement shows don’t help either.  HGTV is BS IMO.  They make it look so easy.  Just speed up the camera, play some peppy music, and in 30 minutes you have a new addition to your house.  And it’s so much fun!  The husband and wife are always laughing, hugging, and high fiving.  They’re so happy to be building something together.  

Not in my world. In my world, when you pair a sarcastic, micro managing wife with an impatient, no-skill  husband, that’s like pairing nitro with glycerine.  It’s volatile, and there’s probably gonna be an explosion. 

Let me elaborate. Not too long ago I was attempting to replace a light switch at the lake house.  Obviously I didn’t learn my lesson with the dryer.  Richard told me it would be easy-peasy; just undo a few screws, bend a couple of wires, redo a few screws, and voila!  Just like that you have a brand new wall switch. 

I suppose my first mistake was  attempting this repair.  The second one was having my wife Carol come along, although in the back of my mind I thought she might be useful because she could call the paramedics if I was shocked into unconsciousness.  

So I began to work.  And from the get go I could see that easy-peasy was not for measy. I could not get the wire to wrap around the screws properly, and when I finally did, I couldn’t get the screws in.  I tried over and over with no success.  Then I began to lose patience.  I could feel myself turning into the Hulk.  As if on cue, Carol begin peppering me with questions designed not so much to help, but to drive me out of my ever loving mind.  

“Do you have the right kind of screwdriver?”

“Are you turning it the right way?”

“Is the power cut off?”

“Where’s the TV remote?”

“Do we have any frozen French fries?”

The nitro was mixing with the glycerine.  

I kept pushing harder and harder with the screwdriver and listening to more and more inflammatory questions.  Finally, the balloon burst. I lost it.  In one violent motion, I spiked that light switch on the floor like an NFL running back who scored a touchdown. Then I stomped that sucker flat.   Plastic and metal bits went everywhere. 

Carol looked at me in disbelief. 

 I yelled, “Why is it you that you don’t do anything but ask me stupid questions?  You don’t help!  Make yourself useful - go to my car and get me another light switch!”

She walked out the front door.  

While she was gone, my anger deflated.  I began to feel bad.  Idiotic questions aside, there was no need for me to act like that.  

Carol walked back in with another switch. 

I snatched it from her hand and growled, “You know what?”

“What?”, she answered defensively.  

I smiled and said, “You will never, ever see that on HGTV!”

We both laughed. Then I called Richard and he told me exactly what I was doing wrong.  I put the switch in, without incident, good as new.  Just like HGTV. 

It was easy-peasy.

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